Reminiscence
by Lilwazzabug
Summary: Sam and Dean recall poignant moments from their past.
1. 1987

_Ok, so I wrote a bit of Wee! in my last fic and I enjoyed writing it so much and everyone liked it so I thought I'd write more. Plus I thought it might be a little ray of light through all the sad fics out there. So, hope ya enjoy!_

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Chapter 1

_"When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. _

_Ever since then I've felt responsible for him. _

_Ya know, like it's my job to keep him safe."_

---------------------------------------

Thunder boomed, rattling the pane of glass in the single window of the motel room. Dean's heart, still on sleep-mode, jumped and quickened its pace at the sudden, loud noise. He opened his eyes and looked towards the window. A slit in the curtain was enough to show rain pouring down on the world outside and allowed a bar of lightening to send flashes around the other ways dark room. Dean's heart rate evened out, realizing that the noise was no more than the wrath of a storm. He took in a deep breath and sat up, leaning his back against the wall at the head of his bed.

The red glow of the clocked sported 2:47 A.M. as its current time. Dean leaned forward to look around the lamp that obstructed his view of the bed across from him. Another flash of lightening revealed the form of his sleeping brother. Sam's face was soft, peaceful as he remained oblivious to anything of the conscious world. Dean smiled a little. Sam's feet always hung over the end of the bed. No motel room seemed to offer a mattress that fully accommodated Sam's impressive height. _"He may call me short, but at least _my _feet are warm at night." _Dean smiled smugly to himself.

Lightening flashed around the room again, closely followed by a bellow of thunder. Dean shot a look out through the curtains, almost annoyed with the storm. Sam had been pushing himself too hard lately. Dean usually found him already at the computer doing research by the time he woke up. He always had the distinct feeling that Sam had been there for awhile. Dean didn't want Sam to be woken from the sleep that at the moment so perfectly stole him away because some pesky storm wanted to make itself known.

Dean heard Sam shift between sheets. He looked over, but found Sam still fast asleep. Dean remembered when Sam couldn't even close his eyes when a storm disturbed the heavens. Sam _hated_ storms when he was young. He would always ask Dean why they were necessary and how come they had to be so "Mean." Sam had used that word when describing storms: mean. Dean would just shake his head and shrug. _"Sammy with all the questions."_ A particular memory drifted to Dean's mind and he smiled softly. He couldn't believe it had occurred nearly twenty years ago. The time between then and now seemed to be so much less.

**April 1987**

_John Winchester had dropped Sam and Dean off at Pastor Jim's while he went off on a job. Dean was four months out of turning eight and Sam was less than a month short of four. _

_It was late, or early, whichever way you prefer to look at it. A muted infomercial for fantastically sharp knives cast a dull glow over Dean as he slept, sitting up right, on the couch. He had fallen asleep again waiting for John's return. The same way he had the past three nights in a row._

_Dean hadn't really noticed the relatively vicious storm that had picked up outside the old house. He didn't notice the lightening as it danced over his eyelids. He didn't even really hear the thunder as it pummeled the siding of the house. No, Dean didn't hear any noise from the storm outside, but he _did _hear a much softer sound. A sound that followed little, unheard footsteps that walked right up to and stopped in front of him._

_"Dean?"_

_Dean immediately awoke upon hearing the sound of his little brother's voice. His eyes, green and old way beyond his years, fell upon the curly, chocolate locks that barely cleared the high couch. _

_"Yeah, Sammy?" _

_Sam's big, bluish green eyes peaked at Dean over the cushions._

_"I'm scared." Sam's voice was small and shaky and he said his "R" like a "W." Dean smiled sleepily down at him._

_"It's ok. It's just a storm."_

_Sam shifted his weight and he was quiet for a moment. The head of a yellow, stuffed duck appeared above the edge of the couch._

_"Tom's scared too."_

_Dean never exactly understood why Sam chose the name "Tom" for a stuffed animal. He always thought "Quackers" would be more fitting for Sam's favorite toy._

_Dean chuckled a little._

_"Tell Tom, it's just-" A booming clap of thunder followed by the blinding flash and tearing roar of lightening shook the house. Before the noise could die down, Sam had jumped onto the couch and clung to Dean's waist, burying his little face in his shirt. Dean was more surprised by how impressive it was that Sam was able to climb on the couch by himself than he was by the threatening outburst of weather. He smiled and shook his head, putting his arms around Sam's back._

_"Make it stop, Dean." Sam's voice came muffled as he continued to hide his face in Dean's shirt._

_Sam felt so small in his arms and his voice housed such a pleading manner that Dean felt a pang of guilt that he _couldn't_ change the weather._

_"I can't, Sammy. But it will pass over soon. I promise." _

_Another rumble of thunder seemed to cancel out any comfort Dean's words might have given to Sam. Dean sighed and, realizing that words really wouldn't do much_ _right now, hugged his brother's small form close to him._

_"Go to sleep, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you."_

_"Promise?" Sam lifted his head and looked up at Dean._

_Dean nodded, face serious. "I promise."_

_Sam sniffed and he nestled his head into the crook of his big brother's shoulder, closing his eyes. Dean rocked gently and after awhile, Sam's breathing fell into the rhythmic drone of sleep. Dean's eyelids began to droop as silent lightening sent a dull glow around the room and thunder faded further and further away until it was just a distant rumble. He too fell asleep, Sam still cradled safely in his arms._

Dean's back began to ache a little as he sat right up against the hard surface of the wall. He didn't really notice it though; he just looked down at his hands, deep in thought. He didn't notice the fading lightening or the now distant thunder, but he heard a quieter sound.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked out of his thoughts and he looked over to see Sam propped up on one elbow, looking at him.

"You ok?" His deep voice asked sleepily, eyes flitting to the soft lightening coming through the curtains.

Dean smiled softly, almost surprised to see a twenty four and not a three year old Sam looking back at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam furrowed his brow a bit. "Ya sure? You look kinda funny, dude."

Dean breathed out a laugh. "No, I'm good, little brother."

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_Aight, there ya go, there's the first chappy, sorry it's kinda short.. Let me know what ya'll think._

_Reviews are a many splendid thing, reviews are like oxygen, reviews lift us up where we belong, all you need is reviews._

_--Lil--_


	2. 1997

_New chappy! Still happier with the first one(I'm a sucker for the Wee!Chesters) but I wanted to explore memories from all different times when the boys were growing up. __Hope ya like._

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Chapter 2

_"And what do you think my job is?_

_You've saved my life over and over. _

_I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. _

_Don't you think I'd do the same for you? _

_You're my big brother. _

_There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."_

_-------------------------------------_

Sam fumbled the keys to the hotel in his tired hand. Finally able to put the key in the lock, he turned it and opened the door. Sam immediately turned to Dean who was leaning heavily against the door frame, clutching his left shoulder and slumping forward slightly. Sam reached his hand towards Dean to guide him into the hotel room, but Dean pushed heavily off the door frame and shied away from Sam's hand.

"I got it." Dean grumbled.

"Just like you had it when that thing tried to rip your arm off?" Sam shot back quickly.

Dean responded with a low noise and walked lazily into the room. Sam followed and shut the door behind him. His hand ghosted behind Dean's back as he followed him and helped him sit down in a chair. Dean's features twisted a little in pain and he grunted quietly as he settled back into the chair.

The Hellhound they had been hunting had done quite a number on Dean, treating him liked its own personal chew toy. Sam had managed to pump a few rounds into the evil canine's back and kill it-including a couple extra shots, just for good measure-before it could succeed in relieving Dean of his left arm. Sam himself walked away from the battle with little more than a scratched up cheek and a few cuts and bruises.

Sam grabbed a bag from the corner and dumped its contents on the table next to Dean. Pain killers, bandages, a stitching kit and rubbing alcohol made up the pile that littered the table top. Dean winced as he carefully eased his shredded jacket off his shoulders.

"Great." He mumbled, eyeing and tossing aside the useless, bloodied fabric.

Sam rummaged through the medical supplies, glancing up at Dean. Worry etched lines on Sam's face.

"You alright?"

Dean looked down and ran his fingers lightly over the four, bloodied rips going across abdominal area of his shirt.

"My favorite shirt, dude." He smirked weakly up at Sam.

Sam shook his head, features stony; he didn't think Dean was taking this seriously enough.

"Let me take a look at that." He nodded his head at Dean's shoulder.

Dean sighed and shrugged as he looked at his ruined shirt.

"It's shredded to hell anyway." And he simply put his hands through the first of the four tears and ripped the bloodied fabric off his chest. The claw marks ran in diagonals across Dean's bare abs, but they weren't deep. He had gotten lucky when he managed to _mostly _back step the creature's razor sharp claws.

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust at the teeth marks that marred Dean's shoulder and back. The punctures, some slightly torn from when the Hellhound pulled its jaws away, left slightly smaller than dime-sized holes in Dean's skin and exuded crimson that dried in places as it ran down his bicep. Sam poured some alcohol on a washcloth and shook his head, jaw set.

"I told you to be more careful." He said in a low voice. He pulled a chair up in front of Dean and placed the cloth on his shoulder. Dean twitched against the sting of the alcohol and bit back a groan.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded, gently cleaning the wounds.

Dean chuckled a little. "You would have preferred to be the Hellhound's next meal?"

"Dean, you practically tackled the damn thing!"

Dean shrugged, smirking smugly. "Saved your ass." He winced as Sam wiped over his shoulder one last time and finished cleaning it.

"It was reckless, Dean. You remember what we talked about, don't ever try and-"

"Yeah, yeah." Dean sighed. "How's your..." Dean motioned with his eyes at the gashes on Sam's right cheek.

Sam glided his long fingers absently over the four wounds.

"Fine." He said quietly, heaving a heavy sigh at Dean's stubbornness and unfailing habit of changing the subject when he didn't want to talk about something; no matter how important it was. Sam had made Dean promise to take it easy ever since he made the deal. He made him promise him that he wouldn't do anything stupid or crazy that might possibly cut his days short to anything less than the given year.

Sam didn't even want to take the Hellhound case. It sounded way too risky to him-too risky for Dean-but he finally gave in when Dean just insisted that they _couldn't_ pass this up.

Sam finished wrapping gauze around Dean's shoulder and secured it with medical tape. He moved to tend to Dean's clawed up stomach next, but Dean motioned him away.

"I can do this, you take care of yours." Dean took the fresh cloth from Sam and began work on his abdomen.

Sam sighed as he doused another one of the hotel's blindingly white washcloths with alcohol. _"Bet the cleaning ladies love it when they find these things."_ Sam sat back and placed the cloth to his cheek, wincing at the sting. He wiped off the dried blood and held the cloth back, looking blankly at the scarlet that stained it.

Sam glanced over at Dean who had already managed to clean and dress his stomach, just now putting the last bit of tape to hold the bandage in place. Dean look satisfied with his work and he tried to stand up, making a pained face. Sam was at his side immediately, his arm hooked around Dean's. Dean scooped up the bottle of pain killers before he let Sam guide him to one of the beds. Sam propped up some pillows and Dean settled back on them, giving Sam a grateful smile. Sam gently patted Dean's uninjured shoulder and walked back to his chair. He placed the cloth back over his cuts and held it there, keeping his gaze on his brother. Dean dispersed two pills in his hand and swallowed them dry. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. He scrunched up his face a bit and lightly massaged his injured shoulder. Dean looked up, noticing Sam's eyes on him.

"What?" He lifted his eyebrows at Sam. Sam blinked as if startled, being pulled back from the expanse of his own mind. He smiled a little and shook his head.

"Nothing, I was just..." Sam chuckled and scratched his long fingers through the back of his hair, looking down at the table to focus on a roll of medical-tape. "...Nothing."

Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms gingerly across his chest. "Aw, come on, Sammy. Say _something _to entertain me until the pain meds kick in."

Sam looked up at Dean, bouncing his foot lightly on the ground.

"Alright." He said after a moment of thought. "You...uh...remember that hunt you and Dad went on? I was about fourteen. Me and Dad had just been at each other and I refused to go on the hunt with ya'll?"

Dean furrowed his brows in puzzlement and he shook his head slowly.

Sam smiled. "Well, I guess that's expected. You and Dad were looking into a haunting in Arizona..."

**September 1997**

_Sam sat up in his bed at The Desert Inn motel. He held a science book in his hands and read, attempting to cool down from he and his father's most recent quarrel. "To hell with him. If I'd rather study than go hunt some pissed off spirit then that's my life, not his."_

_Sam did feel guilty about Dean though. As always, the eldest Winchester brother had stood between Sam and John in attempts to stop what seemed like the billionth fight over the fact that Sam so stubbornly refused to follow in his father's footsteps._

_It had been over four hours since John had stormed out of the room, followed reluctantly by Dean who gave Sam a sad look and shouldered his duffle before going out the door._

_Sam furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate completely on the words in front of him and not on the ones passed between him and John. Deciding that he wouldn't be able to really comprehend what he was only half reading, Sam closed the book and tossed it aside. He let out a deep sigh and crossed his arms, leaning his head back against the headboard. Sleep sounded liked a winning past time and it was nearly midnight so Sam closed his eyes. He drifted between the two planes of reality and after a few minutes he drifted off to sleep._

_Not long after, the door flew open and slammed into the wall, causing Sam to jump and nearly fall right off the bed. He was on his feet in a second, ready to fight, but Sam's heart fell when he saw John, supporting Dean's limp body through the doorway. _

_Sam rushed over and grabbed Dean's left arm that swung lazily at his side, draping it over his shoulders. _

_"What happened?" Sam breathed out, eyes scanning quickly over Dean's body for signs of injury. _

_He and john moved Dean over to one of the double-beds and laid him across it._

_"Spirit appeared out of no where and knocked him unconscious. He might have a concussion." _

_Sam's eyes widened as their gaze fell upon a deep gash on the left side of Dean's forehead, leaking blood down the side of his face. Sam put a shaking hand to the gash but withdrew it quickly, fearing to only make the injury worse._

_"Take care of him. I'm going back." John said flatly as he made his way back to the door._

_"What?!" Sam grabbed his father's arm, turning him back to face him. "What do you mean, 'back'?!" He yelled._

_"The job isn't finished. We got sidetracked."_

_Sam laughed bitterly in disbelief. "Sidetracked? You call Dean getting hurt 'sidetracked'?" Sam wasn't afraid to stand up to John; his recent growth spurt had shot him up to nearly the same height as his father._

_"Glad to see you've got your priorities straight, Dad."_

_John ripped his arm from Sam's grip. "I don't have time to argue with you, Sam. Fix Dean up. I'll be back later." _

_John went out of the room and slammed to door behind him before Sam could say another word. _

_"Damnit!" Sam kicked the dresser angrily and turned, hurrying back over to Dean. His temper faded as quickly as it had come as Dean let out a groan and clenched his already closed eyelids in evident pain._

_"Dean? Can ya hear me?" Sam gently wiped away the blood running in trails down Dean's face. Dean didn't respond except for turning his head a little in Sam's direction. Sam looked at the crimson of his brother's blood as it stained his fingers and he swallowed hard. Quickly grabbing the bag of medical supplies, Sam sat down next to Dean and assessed the severity of the gash that split his forehead._

_"Son of a bitch!" Sam hissed in a low voice, vaguely realizing how much he sounded like his big brother at the moment. The cut looked deep...too deep. Sam eyed the stitching kit nervously; the idea of threading a needle and wire through his brother's flesh mad his skin crawl. _

_Sam took up a cloth and poured antiseptic on it. He gently put it to the gash, watching Dean's face for a reaction. No grimace or wince darkened Dean's features. Although he was glad to see that he had not inflicted any pain on his brother, Sam didn't quite like how mellow Dean was at the moment._

_"Dean?" Sam gently touched Dean's shoulder, shaking him after a moment. His heart was racing; Dean didn't respond. Sam gently felt the side of Dean's neck; a strong, fast pulse hammered against his fingers. He took comfort in the pulse and decided that that and the rise and fall of Dean's chest would have to quench his fears for the time-being. He poured a bit more rubbing alcohol on the cloth and placed it over Dean's wound again. He reacted this time. Dean let out a pained, choked cry and jerked away from whatever it was that was stinging his forehead. Sam startled._

_"Hey, hey it's alright." _

_Dean breathed heavily, head lolling about aimlessly. "Sammy! We have to go back...back for...for Sam." Dean rambled breathily._

_Sam's eyes welled a bit. "I'm here, Dean. It's me."_

_Dean fisted the comforter in his hands as his feet pushed weakly against the bed. Sam put his hand lightly on Dean's chest._

_"Dean? Wh-"_

_Dean's eyes shot open and he let out a startled noise. His hand flew up and grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him violently forward._

_"Who are you!? What've you done with him!?"_

_Sam looked a little frightened; half from the intensity in Dean's actions and half from his deluded ramblings. "It's me, Dean. Sam...Sammy." _

_Dean blinked groggily, chest rising and falling heavily, and his grip on Sam's shirt loosened._

_"S-Sammy?"_

_Sam nodded, smiling weakly. Dean let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, face relaxing as if relieved. His hand released its grip and moved around lazily, seeming to seek something. It caught Sam's hand and squeezed it tightly. Sam returned the gesture, trying not to wince as Dean's vice of a grip constricted his fingers._

_"You ok?" He asked quietly. _

_Dean just chuckled lightly. His fingers loosened around Sam's as he drifted from consciousness again. Sam knew it wasn't really a good thing for Dean to sleep when he had a possible concussion, but he sure as hell didn't want to have to stitch him up while he was awake, so Sam made the best of it. _

_He took in a deep breath and let Dean's hand go, a little reluctantly. He reached for the sewing kit and slowly prepared the needle. Sam threaded the wire and looked over at Dean's sleeping face. He exhaled carefully and brought the needle over to the gash. Sam set his jaw and slipped the needle through both sides of Dean's wound, inwardly rejoicing when Dean didn't start screaming his lungs out or throwing punches. _

_Sam finished the stitches, relatively pleased with his work, and taped gauze over the neat row of wire. Dean shifted in his sleep and mumbled something inaudible as Sam returned the medical supplies to their bag. Sam gave him a worried look and scooted off the bed, gathering up the bloody washcloths and tossing them in the bathroom sink. He washed his hand and went back out into the room. _

_Sam kept his eyes on Dean as he crossed the room and sat down in one of the hotel chairs, keeping close watch over his brother._

Ten years later in the present, Sam sat in nearly the same place, doing the same exact same thing.

"We took you to the hospital when Dad got back; just to be safe. You woke up two days later." Sam looked blankly at the carpet at his feet as he relived every second he was describing. Dean looked intently at Sam as he told the story that he couldn't seem to remember.

"I stayed by your side as much as the nurses allowed. You kept mumbling, sleeping restlessly. I was worried your injury was more severe than me and Dad expected." Sam looked up at Dean. "You scared the hell outta me."

Dean gave him a lopsided, almost apologetic, smile and looked down at his hands.

"I think I _do_ remember a little after that." He said after a moment. "I kinda remember..." Dean paused, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Didn't...Didn't Dad get a black eye from that hunt?"

Sam held back a smile and looked quickly away from Dean as he fiddled with a box of gauze. "It's a thought."

Sam had never told Dean the fact that when John finally got back from that hunt, Sam had met him outside, given him an earful and clocked John in the right eye. Sam was absolutely livid that his father had left at a time like that. That he'd left him with his injured brother with nothing to do but worry endlessly about whether Dean would be ok or not.

Sam normally would not feel the need to smile when reminded of such a morose memory, but there was one aspect that made this one not entirely terrible. A few moments after Sam's fist had collided with his father's face, after John had time to recover from the shock and pain of being punched by his youngest, he had given Sam a respectful look; he had damn near smiled. John then nodded once and clapped Sam on the shoulder, disappearing into the hotel room.

Sam had stood there, frozen, hands still clenched into fists; the right one throbbing painfully with each pump of his rapid heart beat. He had expected a fight, hell Sam was prepared for it and was willing to go through with it. Hitting his father felt exhilarating and odd at the same time. Sam _never_ would have guessed John would react the way that he did.

Sam smiled at the memory because that had been the single most bizarre and confusing moment of his entire life. Even taking into account all the things he had hunted, that moment held fast to the gold medal; only rivaled by waking up from the bottomless darkness of death and sidestepping a demonic virus.

Dean's voice pulled Sam off his train of thought.

"What?" Dean asked, a slight, curious smile playing at the corners of his lips. Sam chuckled and shook his head.

"Nothing." He tapped the box of gauze against the table top. "Just glad you're alright." Sam smiled thankfully at Dean.

Dean smiled back and looked away from Sam, scratching the back of his head and clearing his throat quietly.

Over two years of basically never being removed from each other's company was more than long enough for Sam to learn Dean's body language whenever anything remotely constituting as a chick-flick moment presented itself.

Sam smiled knowingly and offered his word of redemption. "Jerk."

Dean grinned appreciatively and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Bitch."

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_Ahh I am quite the sucker for the "Bitch" "Jerk" moments : )_

_Ok, so wasn't entirely sure if Sam punching John and him reacting that way was realistic, but I could picture it well, so I went with it._

_Hope ya'll liked the chappy!_

_It's Dean's turn to reminisce next. More Wee!Chester in the upcoming chapters. _

_Reviews are a many splendid thing, reviews are like oxygen, reviews lift us up where we belong, all you need is reviews._

_-:::-Lil-:::- _


	3. 1995

_Really happy with this chapter, hope ya'll are too: D_

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Chapter 3

_"Listen to her purr. Have you ever heard anything so sweet?"_

_"Ya know if you two wanna get a room, just let me know, Dean."_

_"Aww, don't listen to him, Baby. He doesn't understand us."_

_-----------------------------------------------------------_

The absolute second Dean's injuries healed enough that he could move without at least _showing_ pain, he insisted that he and Sam hit the road again. Bright and early, especially for Dean, the Impala was packed and housed both Winchesters, ready to feel asphalt under her tires again.

The sun peeked over the horizon as Dean steered out of the hotel parking lot, a cranky-from-being-woken-up-too-early Sam slouching on the seat next to him.

Four hours drive brought the sun higher in the clear blue sky and along with it, a seemingly endless stretch of secluded highway. Sam had dropped back off to sleep almost immediately after leaving the hotel; the humming lull of the engine and the gentle bobbing of the car just too calming to ignore. Dean glanced over at his sleeping little brother. Sam leaned against the window, his breath causing small, condensing clouds to fog on the glass as it battled against the cold air whipping past outside.

Dean smiled a bit and shook his head; he couldn't help but notice how when Sam slept, when he slept _peacefully_ that is, he looked just like the scrawny little kid he used to be. Dean stretched his cramped muscles, momentarily bracing his arms straight against the wheel. He took in a deep breath and a strong sense of calm washed over him as he exhaled.

Dean looked out on the long expanse of black highway in front of him. _"I could just stay on this road. Drive forever and never look back." _He thought to himself. _"Why not? Got everything I need in this car." _That's what Dean loved about traveling, never stopping in one place long enough for your troubles to catch up with you. The road holds no tricks. It has no rules, no worries. _"No demonic bitch to haunt your sleep and remind you of something you already damn-well know." _

Dean closed his eyes a second and gripped the wheel a bit harder, as if to hold onto the fragile sense of peace that he felt was slowly slipping away each passing moment. _"If only I had driven a little faster, looked a little harder. None of this would've happened...and Sam wouldn't be dying a little bit with you each day." _Dean shook his head. At the whole thing, but mostly at himself.

He stared blankly for a moment, just watching as the dotted yellow lines disappeared under the side of the Impala. A sleeping snort from Sam was enough to pull Dean back from his precipitously dark thoughts and make him chuckle. Dean made a mental note to make fun of Sam for that later.

The sudden change back to lighter thoughts brought with it better times as well. Dean smiled to himself and rested his elbow at the top of the door against the window. He rubbed his chin as his gaze focused on something that could no longer be seen by any eye except the mind's.

**January 1995**

_On the morning of the twenty-fourth, the thump of something bouncing off Dean's back caused him to wake up rather; rather cranky, but also another year older. He was finally sixteen. Dean grumbled and lifted his face from his pillow, squinting around for what woke him. He saw his father leaning against the doorway of the room he and Sam shared in the hotel they were currently staying at._

_"Happy birthday, kiddo." John smiled proudly at Dean. Dean grinned groggily._

_"Thanks." As he leaned back on his elbow, he felt something jagged gently press into his skin. Dean looked behind him to find a familiar key nestled lightly in the sheets. His heart jumped and he grabbed up the key, cradling it in his hand as if it were a priceless treasure. Dean looked back at John, eyes wide with excitement._

_"No way!" _

_John beamed at him and nodded. _

_"She's all yours." _

_Dean threw off the blankets and dashed out of the room, keeping his eyes fixed on John as if expecting any minute for him to admit his prank and snatch the key away from him. Seeing no objection from his father, Dean rushed outside, not even registering the biting cold of Ohio in January. He ran his fingertips over the shining ebony surface of the 67' Chevy Impala; _his_ 67' Chevy Impala. _

_Dean unlocked the driver's door and slid onto the leather seat within. His movements and expression emulated, to the cliché', a kid in a candy store. Dean grinned insanely, his sparkling green eyes taking in every inch of the interior that he had seen so many times before, now looking at it in a completely different light. He closed the door and situated himself better as he ran his hands around the leather steering wheel. He laughed giddily and put the key in the ignition, pausing the turn as he looked up through the windshield. _

_A dazed looking Sam stood in the doorway of their hotel room. His hair, teased by sleep, went whichever way it pleased and he rubbed a hand over his eyes sleepily. Sam gave Dean a little smile, the question in his mind etched clear as crystal on his young face. Dean grinned and opened his door a little, leaning towards the space at the top._

_"Get your ass out here, Sammy."_

_Sam's cheeks dimpled into a wide grin and he ran to the passenger's side door. Dean turned the key and the engine rumbled to a start; the sound was like music to his ears. John stood just inside the room, hands in pockets, smiling out at Dean._

_"Be careful." His voice barely cleared to sound of the old car._

_Dean grinned and nodded. He put the Impala in reverse, draping his arm over the back of the seat to look behind him._

_"Got your seatbelt on?" He glanced down at Sam. Sam gave him a defiant look._

_"You're not wearing yours."_

_"Well, I'm the driver." Replied Dean, liking the sound of that: "The Driver." He put the car in drive, but paused, looking down at Sam expectantly. Sam crossed his arms and stared right back at Dean, a smile playing across his lips. Dean rolled his eyes finally and reached for his own seatbelt. _

_"Stared down by an eleven year old." He mumbled as he clicked his seatbelt on. Sam followed suit and leaned forward to look out of the front window more._

_"Ok, let's go." He urged, swinging his bare feet a little over the side of the seat. Dean pressed down the accelerator and pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road. Sam bounced a bit in his seat after a few seconds._

_"You're not going very fast."_

_Dean smirked. "Dad could still see us..." He looked over at Sam and arched his eyebrows. "...Not anymore though." _

_He pushed the gas pedal down hard. The sound and feel of the fast acceleration coaxed adrenaline all throughout Dean's body. They drove _everywhere, _not really having a set destination. After while of just cruising around, Dean took him and Sam to a deserted, dusty field completely cut off by a circle of tress that he had noticed on their last hunt a few days ago. _

_Dean raced around square of land, kicking up dust clouds and doing neat donuts; something he'd perfected at the age of fourteen, without John's knowledge of course. Two hours, many miles and a dizzying number of tire-track rings later, Dean began the drive back to their hotel._

_Sam yawned widely, worn out from the thrilling ride he'd just been on. _

_"That was sooo awesome!" He said through his stretch. "Where'd you learn how to do that?" Sam looked at Dean, his ever changing eyes deciding on bluish shade of gray today as they sparkled with amazement. Dean chuckled and ruffled Sam's hair._

_"Oh, I've learned a few tricks over the years." _

_Sam giggled delightedly._

_"You can't tell dad though. He'd kill me if he knew I did that; especially with you in the car." _

_Sam nodded happily, always loving it when Dean trusted him with secrets. Sam snuggled up against the door._

_"Happy birthday." _

_Dean smiled. "Thanks, dude." He sighed contentedly. The gentle hum of the Impala filled up his ears and tickled his hands as they held the wheel. _

_"So, what'd ya get me?" Dean smiled playfully and looked over at Sam. "Oh..." He said quietly, seeing Sam fast asleep on the seat next to him. Dean shook his head._

_"Dude can sleep anywhere." He laughed quietly. He looked back at Sam and spoke, hardly above a whisper._

_"You'll get why that's funny when you're older."_

_It was one of the few cherished moments of clarity in Dean's other ways crazy life; just him, Sam and the road._

_"Dean..." The voice was familiar but sounded far off._

"Stop sign, Dean!"

Dean jumped a bit at Sam's yell and slammed on the breaks, stopping the car just before a stop sign at a four-way road. Dean looked over at Sam after the sound of squealing tires faded away. Sam was slunk down in the seat with his feet braced against the dashboard, giving Dean a wide-eyed look. Dean smiled sheepishly.

"Whoops?"

Sam shook his head. "What the hell, Dean?"

Dean, seeing all ways were clear, carried on through the intersection.

"Aw come on. Why is there a stop sign all the way out her in the middle of nowhere anyway?"

Sam scooted back up in his seat and exhaled a deep breath he had been holding.

"So people who are somewhere off in la la land have a reason to _slow down _and _pay attention?" _ Sam raised his eyebrows in faux confusion at Dean. Dean cleared his throat, clearly defeated by his brother's ever unfailing sense of logic.

"Yeah, well...at least _I _don't make little..._pig _noises in my sleep." He shot back, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Sam breathed out a sarcastic laugh. "You can snore like a rhinoceros, Dean."

Dean tried to hold back a smile. He looked over at Sam, arching an eyebrow. Sam mirrored the suppressed smirk, much less successful in hiding it as his dimples twitched on either side of his mouth. Dean swatted Sam on the arm with the back of his hand. Sam returned the gesture heartily. Dean laughed and put up a hand defensively.

"Hey, hey. No hitting the driver."

['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'['/\'

_Hehe, boys will be boys:D_

_Hope ya'll liked it. Thought it might be fun to explore exactly how Dean got his "baby."_

_Sam's turn to remember is next. I'm going to use something that I was originally going to write as an oneshot. Here's a hint: Ever wonder what happens between commercial breaks on certain episodes? This one probably gonna be a little more EMO than previous chaps._

_Reviews are a many splendid thing, blah blah, yak yak yak GIVE ME REVIEWS!!!!OO_

_-o-o-Lil-o-o-_


	4. 2006

_I have been stressing and building up the obsession to get this chapter edited just right and posted, so sorry if it's not all that great. It's been sitting in my documents for a long time now and I think if I don't post it I'm gonna freakin' explode! OO_

_I'm always curious about what might happen between commercial breaks. Here's my take on that. Hope ya'll enjoy! Do me a favor, tell me if this whole "The Boys are stressed about Dean's deal" thing is getting old or annoying. I write this for ya'll to read, so your opinions are way important to me._

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter 4

At night fall, the Winchester brothers were still on the road; they had been traveling literally all day, stopping occasionally for food or a gas fill up, etc. Sam stretched his cramped legs and looked at his watch.

"Dean, it's eight. We've been driving for over twelve hours."

Dean shrugged and nodded in acknowledgement of Sam's words.

"So...Don't you wanna stop or something? Take a rest?"

Dean scratched at his neck absently. "I'm fine, Sammy. Unless you wanted to."

Sam shook his head. "No, it's just...No, I'm good."

Sam propped his head up on his fist and looked out the window into the freshly darkened night. They had headed west that morning and must have been nearly to Iowa by now. Neither of them had really found anything to hunt, so there was no set destination; they were just traveling for...well...Dean had just wanted to get back on the road with no real explanation as to why.

Sam knew his brother. Dean wanted to ditch their last finished hunt so quickly because being on the open road soothed him and cleared his mind; and Lord knows he had _a lot_ on his mind. Sam sighed. He admitted, watching the world pass by through the windows of the Impala was such a beautiful concept. It soothed him too, and it was exactly what he needed; some time to sort out his thoughts.

Sam felt like he had a permanent post-it slapped on the foremost part of his mind these days. Not one second of the day-and most of the time in his dreams too-did Sam not think about what the future held for him. He knew the demon had had plans for him, but were those plans still in motion now that the YED was dead? What were or what had they been? Did the fact that demon blood poisoned his veins mean he was evil? And what of the being-brought-back-from-the-dead factor? Ah yes...Dean's deal. When he wasn't thinking about his feared-to-be-dark future, Sam was overwhelmed with guilt and fear over his brother's ever shortening life-span. Sam told himself that they still had time; nine months, eight days, three hours and twenty-eight minutes to be exact, but who's really counting anyway?

Sam had looked all over the internet, through old books and even gone to see a few people who may or may not have practiced less than reputable methods(Behind Dean's back, of course) Nothing...In three months, Sam had come up dry every time.

He filed through a bit of the past two years in his mind: Countless false identities and law impersonations, breaking and entering, stealing, wanted for murder, being trailed by the FEDs, confronted with death (on both brother's parts), possibly evil, limited one year of life, killing the Yellow-Eyed Demon and on the hunt for hundreds of demons that had recently escaped from the gates of hell. Sam shook his head and smiled, despite all the true severity of the situation. He and Dean could definitely hold the spot in the Guinness Book of World Records for strangest lives.

The loud blare of the Impala's horn cut through Sam's haze of thoughts. He jumped and looked around quickly. A semi to the right was making its way back to its own lane.

"Jackass." Dean mumbled angrily as he accelerated the Impala and passed the truck, watching as its lights got further and further away in the rearview mirror. Sam relaxed and shifted in his seat. He glanced over at Dean who still looked tense; his hands gripping the wheel tightly. Sam knew semis made Dean nervous, hell they made them both nervous. Every time one shared the highway with them, Dean would floor it and pass as quickly as possible.

Sam knew it was a little silly, especially taking into account what they did for a living, but it was a logical fear. Give either of them a black dog to hunt or a demon to exorcise and they'd do it, no problem at all. But show them a Mac truck going seventy miles an hour, and they were uncomfortable. Irony: It seemed to be the Winchester's reoccurring companion.

Sam looked in the side mirror back at the fading lights of the semi, his jaw set. He was surprised by how the mere sight of the vehicles brought back unpleasant memories. He frowned as he recalled all that had happened that fateful night. The horrors that he had witnessed that he wished he never would have seen. That night they found, or were ambushed rather, by the demon was one of the worst nights of his life. And, unfortunately, Sam would never forget it.

**November 2006**

_Sam's mind raced dizzyingly and his heart hammered mercilessly against his ribs. His hands shook slightly as they gripped the handle of the Colt, finger poised reluctantly over the trigger. _ "If you do this...this will all be over. Everything dream of revenge you've had in the past year will be brought to life and you won't ever have to worry about it again...but it's Dad."

_"Sam, no." _

_Sam heard his fallen brother's plea, quiet and broken by pain and desperation. Sam kept his watery gaze on his father who looked up at him desperately. _"...But it's Dad."

_"You do this!" John ground out. "Sammy!"_

_Dean's desperate plea echoed throughout Sam's head and drowned out the one that his father issued. It erased any other thought and Sam lowered the gun, looking apologetically at John._

_"Sam..." His father's voice wavered with disappointment._

_In the next moment, black smoke erupted from John's mouth. The Yellow-Eyed Demon expelled itself from its host's body and disappeared between the cracked floorboards of the broken down cabin. John gasped and relaxed back against the floor. A choked sigh of pained relief came from Dean. John looked helplessly up at Sam, angry at his son's decision, before letting his head fall back against the floor. _

_Sam breathed out a held exhale and bit back a sob. The Demon had gotten away yet again, and it was his fault. But his own father couldn't possibly ask that of him; to shoot him in the heart, to end it there and then. Even if he had pulled the trigger and killed the demon along with John, Sam knew Dean _never_ would have forgiven him. _Sam had the present thought that perhaps Dean would have remained in that coma and slowly slipped away from him had John not been alive to save him_. The Colt held lax in Sam's hand as he quickly turned and moved over to Dean. _

_He crouched down, taking in again the frightening amount of blood soaking the front of Dean's shirt._

_"Dean...Dean?" Sam's eyes quickly searched his brother's face as Dean lifted his head weakly to look at him._

_"Th-ank you." Dean's voice was quiet and breathy as he verbalized his gratitude towards Sam's decision. The sound of sheer relief in his voice broke Sam's heart. As if Dean really expected him to pull the trigger had he not been there to urge other ways. Sam nodded and swallowed hard against the constricting feeling in his throat..._

_"Hey, listen..." _

_Dean's head lolled weakly onto his shoulder. He blinked heavily, but he kept his eyes open and fixed on his brother. Sam took Dean's hand and placed the Colt in it._

_"Take this. Shoot the damn thing if it comes back. I'll be right back."_

_Dean nodded weakly and he closed his fingers around the handle of the old gun. Sam's eyes threatened to let fall the tears that waited in them as he looked at the toll Dean's unseen injuries were taking on him. He looked so vulnerable lying there. Too weak to even hold his head up or barely keep his eyes open, yet holding a gun tightly as if it were the last treasure in the world. It didn't seem fair to ask Dean to keep fighting in his condition, but Sam knew Dean would, and always would, without question. He would fight til his last twenty-one grams were spent. _

_Dean looked bad, _really _bad. His chest rose and fell weakly and face seemed all that much paler against the bright red splashes that stained it. Sam had no idea what dark form of torture the demon had called on to hurt Dean and make him bleed the way he did, but it was causing him to fade; and fast._

_"I'll be right back." Sam repeated, looking reassuringly into Dean's eyes._

_He stood up and went over to John. They had to hurry. If the YED did come back, it'd be best if the three of them were long gone by then._

_"Come on." _

_Sam took his father's wrist and draped his arm over his own shoulders. John didn't look at Sam as he helped him to his feet and took on the weight that his own injured leg could not hold. He made no attempt to talk or return the desperate looks Sam was giving him. John remained completely silent except for the occasional pained grunt as Sam guided him out to the Impala. He gently eased John's limp leg into the car and looked up at him sadly._

_John's eyes looked straight ahead, glistening with tears and avoiding Sam's gaze intently. Sam swallowed hard._

_"Dad?" He offered in a soft, low voice. _

_John just shook his head coldly and turned his face away from his youngest son. Sam nodded in understanding and closed the door. He ran into the house and back to his brother. He took long strides to where Dean lay, but stopped short. Dean held the Colt at arm's length, pointing it straight at Sam._

_"Dean-" Sam took a step forward, hands lifted innocently in confusion. Dean clenched his teeth and cocked the Colt, stopping Sam in his tracks again._

_"What did I tell you helps make our job more bearable?" Dean's voice shook a little, but lost none of its intensity or quality of getting across the point that he wasn't in the mood to be screwed with. _

_Sam exhaled and dropped his hands to his sides as he understood Dean's actions. "Killing as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can."_

_Dean's arm shook and he let out a choked breath. That was the second time that night that he had pointed a gun at one of the two people that meant most to him in the world. Sam knew it was a smart thing to do. After what Dean, all of them, had been through that night, caution was an intelligent companion. Dean closed his eyes and let his arm fall heavily to his side. Wet coughs jarred his body and screwed up his face against the pain that accompanied them. Blood bubbled up in his mouth and rolled down from his lips. Sam rushed over and knelt next to Dean._

_"Dean? Oh God, Dean. What'd it do to you?" His eyes welled as he gently touched the side of Dean's face, wiping away one trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. _

_"You al-right?"_

_Sam shook his head in utter disbelief that Dean would even think of his well-being in the state he was in at the moment._

_"For God's sake, I'm fine." He brushed aside Dean's over-shirt to check for any wounds the demon might have inflicted. It disconcerted Sam even more to see that there were no visible lacerations of the skin, yet a sickening amount of blood soaked through Dean's t-shirt._

_"Mmm-S-sorry...Should've known...It was Dad though." _

_Dean spoke in slurred broken halts. Sam nodded understandingly, hoping to calm Dean's worries and keep him from using the seemingly huge amount of energy it took to speak._

_"I know. There's no way we could've seen it coming. It wasn't your fault."_

_Dean's head nodded and drooped lazily against the comforting touch of Sam's hand and his features smoothed with the pull of unconsciousness._

_"Hey, look at me. Look at me!" Sam raised his voice when Dean didn't open his eyes immediately._

_"We gotta get you out of here." Sam urged gently. "Can you move?"_

_Sam took the Colt from Dean's loose grip and hid it in the inner pocket of his jacket._

_"MmI'll...try." Dean said in a low raspy voice. _

_Sam nodded and smiled weakly, attempting encouragement. He pulled Dean's arm up over his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around his back._

_"Ok, ready?" _

_Dean made a low grunt of affirmation and Sam lifted him up onto his feet. Dean let out a stifled groan of protest and fisted the cuff of Sam's jacket in his fingers. He fell heavily against Sam, staggering him a few feet to the side._

_"Whoa, whoa. I gotcha." Sam assured as he regained his balance. _

_Dean breathed heavily, his exhales coming in short wheezes. The small effort of moving alone seemed to be exhausting to him. His feet dragged lazily in futile attempt to help Sam's walk a little easier. Sam was not at all comforted by the cold feel that Dean's skin had taken on. He quickened his pace and kicked open the partially closed door. They finally made it to the backseat of the car and Sam opened the door._

_"Here we go." _

_He said softly as he shifted Dean in his grasp and eased him onto the seat. Dean groaned and his features contorted with pain as he started to slump over. Sam quickly grabbed at the collar of his shirt and righted him against the back rest. Sam knew Dean was tired, weak, bloodied, broken and all around beat, but he didn't like the idea of him falling asleep and possibly not waking up. He wasn't going to let Dean die. Not now, not ever. _

_Sam closed the door and Dean rested heavily against it, holding an arm protectively around his chest._

_Sam got behind the wheel and immediately started the engine. He peeled down the dirt road towards the highway._

_"Dad? Dad...you...ok?" _

_John turned with a wince and looked back at Dean, worry and slight guilt etched on his rugged face._

_"Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. How you doin'?" _

_Sam looked in the rearview mirror when he didn't hear a response from the backseat. He saw Dean just nod weakly at John. No cocky smirk turned up his mouth, no snide or bravado laced remarks passed over his lips; that scared Sam and he pushed the pedal down further._

_The next song on the cassette tape started. Sam hadn't even really noticed that it had been on, but he didn't turn it off. The soft beat of the music was the only thing filling the other ways unnerving silence. They flew along the dark, fog-draped road. All was quiet for a few moments. Sam frequently sent worried glances back towards hi brother over at his father._

_"Just hold on, alright? The hospital's only ten minutes away." Sam said after a few moments of silence from all three of them._

_John let out pained breaths as he clutched at the bullet wound in his leg._

_"I'm surprised at you, Sammy..." It had been the first thing John had said to Sam since the cabin. "...Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing the demon comes first. Before me, before everything."_

_Sam looked in the rearview mirror again. A completely vulnerable and resigned Dean looked warily back at him. Sam shook his head slightly and readjusted his hand on the wheel._

_"No, sir. Not before everything." It was yet another thing to add to list of things that Sam and John did not, in fact, see eye to eye on. Sam would let the YED get away a thousand times before he would let Dean die in any attempts to kill it._

_"Look we still have the Colt, we still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon once-" _

_The sound of metal on metal and the feeling of being thrown violently sideways cut Sam off mid-sentence. He felt shattered glass bite into his flesh and his vision went dark. The finish of "Bad Moon Rising" sounding faintly in Sam's ears was the only connection to the conscious world that was quickly threatening to fade._

_------------------------------------------------------_

Sam felt a hand grip his shoulder and he twitched violently away from it. Dean jumped back a bit, hand raised defensively.

"Whoa, whoa. Easy there, tiger."

Sam exhaled loudly and looked around out the windows. They were off the road and had stopped in a parking-lot.

"Where are we?" Sam asked warily, rubbing at his eyes. The feeling of tears on his finger tips made him wipe a hand hastily across his vision.

"A charming little hotel that apparently has 'vacy' instead of 'vacancy'."

Sam chuckled absently at Dean's smart-alec remark, still recovering from his pull back to reality. Dean looked him over, clearly curious and worried as to what had put Sam so off his guard.

"You looked tired. Decided to stop."

Sam nodded and smiled gratefully at his brother. Dean gave him another questioning look and went off to rent a room. Sam took in a deep breath and rubbed his eyes again. His gaze wandered around the interior of the Impala. He smiled faintly, noting how much better condition it was in now. No busted windows, crushed interior, mangled doors. It was all fixed; good as new. Sam's eyes turned almost reluctantly to the backseat. He half expected to see Dean, in similar condition to what the Impala had been, staring back at him.

Sam sighed and turned forward to look out the front window. He watched Dean talking to the manager inside the office. Sam wondered if Dean had ever really fully recovered from that night. They had never really talked about it, not even brought it up really. The memory had presented itself in Sam's mind more times than he would have liked. The image of Dean writhing in pain and the sound of him crying out from the unseen marring that ripped through his body was permanently burned into Sam's mind; a devilish brand that he wasn't sure even time would heal. The memory of his father begging him to pull the trigger sent chills over Sam's skin. He wondered what John would have done if he were his own shoes. Sam guessed he would have done it...John would have used the last bullet to finish what he had started twenty-two years ago. Well, there was never any doubt about it. Sam and John just had a different outlook on life.

To John, the demon came first. Always had. It was priority number one. Not to Sam. All his years of hunting as a child and as an adult taught him that the thing you hunt is not what motivates you to carry on and it's not what you live for. Werewolves won't stay with you in your darkest hour when all others have abandoned you. Vengeful spirits don't do any and everything in their power to protect you. A _demon _would never make the ultimate sacrifice, just because they couldn't bare the pain of living without you.

To Sam, Dean came first. Always would. Sam knew Dean thought it his job to protect him, to watch after his little brother. Sam likewise felt the same responsibility to uphold. Dean would always be priority number one. Before any demon, revenge, the job, his own fears of what the future holds, before even himself. Dean came first; before everything.

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_Okie dokie, this isn't my favorite chapter, but I just wanted to write a "Commercial Break" story)_

_If you were wondering about the "Til his last twenty-one grams were spent." It's said that when a person dies, they lose twenty-one grams. Supposedly that's the weight of their soul. I saw it in the movie...-Shudders- most damn depressing thing I've ever seen in my entire life. Do NOT watch it unless you're on uppers, or drunk out of your mind or something hahaha._

_Again I apologize if that like...flat out sucked! haha, but it's late and I just really wanted to get that posted._

_Alright, so that was pretty EMO I suppose. Buuuuuut, it's dear Dean's turn to reminisce next...and oh yes, there will be Wee: D_

_Reviews are like Tiedup!Dean and I'm...well...Me!:D_

_\O/--Lil--\O/_


	5. 1991

_I'm evil, I'm bad, I'm a terrible author, I'm sorry for the long wait Like I always say, I've just gotten buckets o' crazy when it comes to finishing fanfics lately. I like this chapter a whole lot. Always a sucker for the flashbacks. Hope ya'll like it. I'll try to do less angst from now on and more sweet Wee!moments...but there will be the occasional "-gasp- OMG!!" chapter as well. I'll try to keep it evened out though : )_

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Chapter 5

Dean pulled a chair up next to his bed and displayed their entire gun collection out on the tacky, purple blanket. Sam had just disappeared into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothing saying that he was going to take a shower. Dean thought that he looked a bit down, but he simply nodded and let it go.

The sound of the shower turning on reached Dean's ears as he took up the gun closest to him and began disassembling it. It was a little habit of his Dean's; when he was bored and had nothing to do, he would clean the guns. He picked up an old cloth from the weapon's bag and used it to clean the individual parts of first gun. Once the steel shown with a brilliance that Dean approved of and the handle was rid of all grime and dirt (including something that most likely was dried blood) he put the gun expertly back together and placed it apart from the rest of the uncleaned weapons.

This process was repeated with a few more guns: taking apart, cleaning, reassembling, and placing it into the "cleaned" pile. Dean placed his favorite ivory-handled gun into the pile and looked over for his next subject of polishing. He paused for a moment before picking up one of the older guns that he had in his possession.

The carved wooden handle of the pistol was rough and splintering in places and the steel barrel was tarnished over. Neither he nor Sam used it very often; it showed. Dean ran his thumb over the engravings on the handle. He hadn't really used the gun in years. Hadn't seen it in years, but he could recognize it anywhere. It was the gun that John had appointed as "his". It was Dean's gun since the age of twelve and he would use it when John took him on a hunt. It was also the gun Dean had taught Sam to shoot with.

**July 1991**

_"What am I supposed to do?"_

_Dean asked John as he watched his father swing a bag over his shoulder and open the front door. John was off on a last minute hunt. A haunted war bunker in western Montana._

_"You really want something to do?"_

_John paused in the doorway and turned to look at his eldest. Dean nodded and crossed his arms._

_"There's nothing to do in this busted up cabin."_

_John had rented out an old hunting-shack nestled deep in the woods after an incident that happened while he was on a hunt a few weeks ago. It had taken him longer than expected to finish the job and the nights rented at the hotel had expired. The hotel manager had gone to the room when John failed to check out that morning and he found two children all by themselves. The manager called child services shortly after. John managed to get both his boys and flee before the authorities had time to get there and remove them from his supervision. The cabin wasn't much, but it was secluded and it was safe._

_John looked Dean over, seeing perfectly well how bored he was. He sighed._

_"Teach Sammy how to shoot."_

_Dean laughed in disbelief._

_"What? He's only eight years old."_

_"You were two years younger than him when you first learned. Just be careful and remember what I've taught you."_

_John turned out the door and left. Dean's stomach twisted and he swallowed hard. John was serious. He wanted him to teach Sam how to use a gun. Sam was so young and Dean himself was only twelve. John was supposed to be the one to teach Sam how to line up the perfect shot. Just like he had taught him. Dean thought it over a few minutes and took in a deep breath. He nodded confidently. He was a good shot, no...a great shot. The first time he had used a gun, he had bull's eyed every single target. He could do this._

_Dean looked out the window. The sun was not set yet, there was still plenty of light for target practice. He turned and walked into the room he and Sam shared. Dean reached under his mattress and pulled out the gun his father had given him for his birthday five months earlier. Well...four months earlier. John had given him the present a little late. Dean carefully unfolded the white handkerchief wrapped around the precious object. He smiled at the mahogany handle and traced the designs going around it. He liked how shiny the steel was, he could see his own reflection almost perfectly._

_He had only used the gun once or twice, but Dean had cleaned it many more times than necessary. He held it firmly in his hands and walked off to find Sam._

_"Sam?" Dean called as he walked around the house. Not finding Sam in any of the rooms, he pushed open the screen door and walked out onto the back porch._

_"Sammy? Ya out here?"_

_"Yeah." Came a reply from across the yard._

_Dean looked over and saw Sam crouching by the small pond surrounded by large pines. He walked down the creaky, wooden steps and shuffled over to Sam. He looked down over his little brother's shoulder, looking at what had captured Sam's attention. A fat toad sat in the palm of Sam's small hand._

_Sam grinned up at Dean, dimples blazing on his young face._

_"Look what I found!"_

_He held the toad up to Dean. Dean made a face._

_"Ugh, those suckers'll give you warts."_

_Sam frowned. "They will not!"_

_Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself." He looked up at the canopy of tree branches above him, smirking victoriously to himself when Sam dropped the toad back into the water and wiped his hands roughly over his jeans._

_"What's with that?"_

_Sam pointed to the gun in Dean's hand as he stood up from his crouched position. Dean looked down and lifted his hand to look at the pistol. He smiled at Sam._

_"I'm gonna teach you how to shoot."_

_Sam's eyes widened._

_"What? But-I."_

_"Here."_

_Dean took Sam's hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle._

_"Keep the muzzle-that's this-..." Dean tapped the tip of the gun in indication. "...Pointed towards the ground. Don't point it at me or Dad ever, ok?"_

_Sam nodded vigorously, staring down at the gun with awe. Dean collected a few rusted cans that were lying under the steps of the porch and walked over to a tree thirty feet from where Sam stood. He placed the cans on the lowest branches of the tree and walked back over to Sam._

_"Ok, now try to knock one of those down."_

_Dean raised Sam's arms and helped him position his grasp on the gun._

_"That hold feel comfortable?"_

_Sam only nodded in response. His hands shook slightly from nervousness and under the weight of the weapon._

_"Don't pull the trigger, squeeze it back gently after you've got your aim."_

_"Ok." Sam said in a quiet voice._

_Dean looked down at Sam's nervous face._

_"Hey..." He gave Sam's shoulder a gentle nudge. "...You can do this, you've got it."_

_Sam smiled a little and looked back at his targets. He squinted his right eye shut and leveled the gun on his selected aim. After a moment, Sam squeezed the trigger back. He jumped at the loud bang and the bullet went under one of the branches holding a can._

_"Good, good. That wasn't bad for a first try."_

_Dean assured as he helped Sam raise his arms again. He held his little brother's hands steady._

_"Ok, I'll hold up your aim this time, alright? But you have to keep your arms up as if I wasn't."_

_Sam nodded, looking more confident this time._

_"On Three. One...Two...Three."_

_Dean took his hand away right before Sam pulled the trigger. The bullet made a tinging sound as it hit a can and sent it flying off the limb. Sam's face lit up and he looked up at Dean._

_"Didya see it? I hit it! I hit the can!"_

_Dean grinned down at him. "Yeah, I saw. Good job, Sammy. Now, try the other two."_

_Sam nodded and raised the gun, still beaming with the success of his first bull's-eyed target. Cicadas began buzzing as the sun began its decent below the horizon. Sam's eye scrunched up as he held the gun at ready. Dean watched the next target intently, anticipating its removal from the branch. Sam pulled the trigger and the can plinked off the tree. Before Dean could say anything, another shot sounded and the third can flew off as well._

_He stared wide-eyed at the tree where all targets had fallen then looked down at Sam. The younger child grinned up at Dean, seeming to be waiting for something._

_"Alright, Sammy!"_

_Dean chuckled with disbelief and pride. He ruffled Sam's wind-teased hair._

_"You're a natural. You'll be hunting werewolves and black dogs before you know it."_

_The moment he said the words, Dean felt a small stab of regret. A part of him had been reluctant when John asked him to teach Sam. Dean knew it was too late for himself, he had grown up at the age of four, but he wanted Sam to have a childhood. Dean wanted him to learn how to assemble a puzzle instead of a shotgun. He wanted Sam to fear the monsters under his bed instead of learning how to kill them. Dean wished Sam could call John "Daddy" instead of "Sir."_

_Dean sighed as he looked over at the tree, deep in thought._

_"Dean?"_

_He felt Sam tug at his sleeve._

_"Can we do that again?"_

_Dean thought about saying "no" until his gaze dropped back down to his little brother. Sam's eyes shown hopefully up at him. Dean sighed and smiled. He placed his hand on top of Sam's head and spoke in a quiet voice._

_"Sure, whatever you want, Sam."_

-----------------------------------------------------------

Dean felt the gun lift from his grasp. He blinked as he blankly watched it disappear from his line of vision.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Huh?" Dean mumbled, seemingly startled.

Sam looked at him, worry flickering across his features.

"What're you uh...doing?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Sam glanced down at the gun then back at Dean. "You ok?"

Realization of how he must have looked, staring intently down at a gun, dawned on Dean. He laughed a little.

"Oh, n-n-no. It's just uh..." He stood up and took the gun from Sam's reluctant grasp. "...This is the gun I taught you to shoot with, remember?

Sam nodded slowly and a slow smile melted away the concern on his face.

"Yeah, I remember."

Dean smiled again at the memory.

"Yeah."

He looked back down at the gun again. God, it seemed like it was only yesterday. He looked back up at Sam and clapped him gently on the shoulder.

"You're a good shot, Sammy."

Sam smiled, eyes mirroring the same admiration for Dean that he had when he was young.

"Yeah...well, you taught me how to be."

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_Okie dokie artichokie. There it is. Hope ya'll likied and hope the ending wasn't too cheesy; I was sort of concerned about it. PLEASE let me know. Good reviews, bad reviews, constructive criticism, just hit me with it!_

_Reviews are like...they're like...yeah, I've got nothing. Reviews are good, ok? I enjoy them; )_

'-'-'-Lil-'-'-'


	6. 2001

_I'm awful, I'm terrible, I'm evil, I'm mean, I'm awful-wait...already said that...Anywho, I apologize for not updating sooner. I have the next UD mostly written, so I'll have that one up no long after this one. And it will be Wee! I'll try to do less angst from now on cause I realized-with someone's help(Who know who you are ; D)-that I write WAAAY too much angst haha. Ok so here this is. Hope ya'll like it...let me know)_

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Chapter 6

_"Ahh Collegboy, thinks he's so smaht."_

_-------------------------------_

Sam pulled out of the parking lot of the hotel and headed towards the nearest grocery. After packing up the newly cleaned weapons and before heading into the shower, Dean had given Sam his usual warning of _"You hurt my baby, I'll kill you."_ Sam had chuckled but couldn't help but notice the flash of something that looked liked regret darken Dean's face. _"Just be careful with her." _SaidDean, reassessing his warning as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam headed down the main, darkened road. His mission was simple: Food, beer, matches-which they were running low on. Sam smiled to himself at the music that filled the car. His initial reaction when he unlocked the Impala was _"Alright! I finally get to choose what music I wanna listen to." _Funny thing was, Sam had ended up loading a Metallica tape into the cassette-deck. He was in the mood for Metallica. One of those moods where you present the likely possibility of your eardrums exploding, yet don't really care cause you're too busy enjoying the music.

_"Ah, score!" _A small market appeared around the corner and up the street. Sam chose a spot delightfully close to the door and walked into the shop. It was a small grocery store; finding everything he needed wasn't too hard for Sam. Beer: check. _"Thank God they actually have the good kind_._"_ Food: check. _"A prime-rib or a steak every once in awhile wouldn't kill us." _Sam thought as he shook his head and grabbed assorted, sorry-though delicious-excuses for food. Matches: check. _"Sale: Four for the price of one. Must be my lucky day." _

The teenage girl behind the register was chewing gum and staring boredly at the ceiling. She blew a impressive bubble and noticed Sam walking over to her register. Her eyes widened and the bubble popped loudly, deflating to stick to a large portion of her face. Sam held back a laugh and tried to pass off his concealed grin as a polite smile to the frazzled cashier. He placed the items on the counter as the girl-her name tag said Graflin- managed to finally claw off the sticky bubble-gum; Sam didn't have the heart to tell her that there was still a large piece stuck to the right side of her chin.

"$20.85." The girl said shakily, not even remembering to card Sam on the beer. Sam smiled and handed over a twenty and a one dollar bill. The girl fumbled with the buttons on the register and gave Sam 50 cents too much change. She laughed nervously as Sam handed her back the two quarters.

"Have a nice night." Sam said with a smile and he headed towards the door.

"Oh uh...yeah you...too." Called the cashier.

A man walking into the store held the door for Sam.

"Thanks." Sam mumbled and headed towards the Impala.

"Sam Winchester..."

Sam froze at the sound of someone addressing him by his real name. _"Oh crap." _ He turned to look back at the man. _"I'll be damned." _Recognition flooded Sam.

"Charlie?"

The man grinned. "Damn right 'Charlie'." He came back outside and threw a hug on Sam. "How the hell are ya, man? Thought you were dead or something."

Sam chuckled. "Or something."

Charlie laughed heartily. "Small world. What are you doin' in Iowa?"

Sam shifted his weight, the bag in his arms crumpling with a squeaky sound. "Um, just passing through. I'm sort of on a roadtrip with my brother."

"Brother? Didn't know you had a brother."

Sam laughed, a twang of sadness and regret perfectly hidden. "Probably because I never mentioned him."

Charlie nodded. "So you had it made back at school, man. Why'd you ditch?"

Sam shrugged. "I just needed to get away. Needed some time, ya know."

Charlie nodded sadly, seeming to remember just then what Sam was referring to. "Well, what's the deal? You gonna go back and finish?"

A barrage of thoughts, things past-said, and images whipped through Sam's mind.

"No." He said quietly after a moment.

Charlie nodded again. Neither said anything for a few moments.

"Well, good to see you, Sam." Charlie put his hand out and shook Sam's hand firmly.

"You too."

Both gave the other a nod of respect and went about what they were doing before their meeting. Sam reached for the Impala's keys in his pocket, still looking through the grocery-store's window at Charlie. Sam breathed out a laugh and shook his head. _"Two years...Is that all it's been?" _He dropped his purchases in the back seat and straightened forward. It had been two years since he left Stanford. Why did it seem like it had been ten? Sam started up the Impala and pulled out of the parking-space, still lost deep within his own thoughts.

Two years since he had left Stanford to help Dean find their dad.

Two years since Jessica died.

Three and a half years since he'd met Jessica.

Six years since he'd applied and been accepted in the first place...Six years since Sam had been accepted to Stanford.

**June 2001**

_Sam walked up the steps to a house in Lincoln, Nebraska. John's friend Caleb had called with a lead on a pretty serious haunting and he and John both left the previous night. Dean insisted on staying behind, to "Make sure Sammy stays out of trouble." The hunt needed no more than two people any way, so John agreed. _

_Sam had been out; at the library to check his e-mail and then off to the P.O. box that he had secretly asked Caleb to open for him a little over a year ago ago. It was the address that Sam had given all the colleges he had applied to. To his disappointment, no letter waited for him at the post office. _

_Sam heaved a sigh and opened the front door. The house was quiet...unusually quiet actually; especially for Dean being there. Most of the time, Sam would usually come back to their place of residence at the time to hear classic rock vibrating the windows, but not today. The door almost seemed to echo as it closed behind him today. _

_"Dean?"_

_Sam called softly as he walked through the kitchen towards the living room. As he passed through the doorway, he found Dean sitting on the couch with his back to him. Sam started towards where his brother was sitting, but slowed his pace as his eyes caught sight of broken glass on the table and floor in front of Dean. Sam rushed his steps when he noticed blood staining bits of the shards._

_"Dean! What-" _

_Sam rounded the corner of the couch and stopped. Dean slouched back against the couch; bloodshot eyes looking blankly ahead. One hand held a glass of what Sam guessed was whisky and the other rested gently on his leg, blood running from it and staining his jeans._

_"What the hell happened!?"_

_Dean's gaze lifted lazily as Sam kneeled in front of him and inspected his bleeding hand. Sam's eyes darted up to Dean's face and back down again._

_"Huh? What'd you do?"_

_Sam didn't have much time to wait for a reply before his attention was diverted to a white square peeking out from under the coffee table. Sam reached his hand out slowly and picked it up, his stomach twisting as the bold words "Stanford University" lettered the top of the page. _"Mr. Winchester, we are pleased to inform you..." _was all Sam needed to read to figure out why the bottle of whisky that had been full this morning was now empty and on the floor in pieces. _

_"You got what you wanted, Sammy." Dean's voice was drained and gruff._

_Sam placed the letter on the table and looked slowly back at his brother. Dean smiled half-heartedly and raised his glass up._

_"Cheers."_

_Sam grabbed the glass away and banged it down on the floor. Dean looked at Sam as if he had just slapped him across the face._

_"Hey-!"_

_"You've had enough." Sam stopped Dean before he could start and turned his attention back to Dean's hand._

_"There's some glass in here." Sam mumbled as he stood up and walked towards the bathroom._

_Dean didn't say anything, he just watched Sam disappear into the other room and return a moment later with a first-aid kit. Both remained silent as Sam opened the kit and selected a needle-nosed instrument. He gently parted the slice in Dean's palm and located the piece of bottle with the tip of the pliers. Dean bit back a protest of pain as Sam pulled a large chunk of glass from the wound. Sam held the crimsoned sliver up, studying it a little, then shook his head. His sea green eyes flicked a glare up at Dean._

_"You're a true dumbass, you know that?"_

_Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Guess that's easy for you to say, huh collegeboy?"_

_Sam blew out a sigh and poured alcohol over Dean's hand; Dean's features twitched a bit at the sting and he continued._

_"So, full ride, huh? That's uh...great. Just peachy."_

_"Dean, you knew I applied. Do you have to do this?"_

_He placed gauze over the long cut and wrapped Dean's hand. Dean's face contorted with flecks of bitterness._

_"Nah, I think it's great. You taking off, just..." He made a sweeping motion with his un-injured hand. "...Off to California. Off to law school, pretending to be just another preppy yahoo."_

_Sam smacked a piece of tape on the gauze to hold it in place-ignoring the painful effect it had on his brother- and stood up quickly, his voice raised now to meet Dean's challenge. _

_"And there's something wrong with that? This is an opportunity of a lifetime! It's my whole future!"_

_"And what about your past, huh? You just gonna pretend it never happened?!" Dean stood up to lessen the upper hand that Sam had with his impressive height; his feet felt a little less steady than he would have liked._

_"This is what I've worked so hard for! I always wanted to do something with my life and this is it! It's what I want to do!"_

_Dean blinked, as if stung by Sam's words, and said nothing. He stared at Sam and swallowed hard after a moment._

_"Why?" Dean asked in a quiet voice._

_Sam's face softened a bit, his need to defy fading away a little. He shifted his weight between his right and left foot. _

_"It just is. I...You really couldn't understand." _

_"Well you're right there."_

_Dean's retort had little anger behind it, dominated mostly by defeat and true agreement that he did not understand. He rolled his head to look away from Sam, the sudden movement causing his numbed body to sway a little._

_"Come on, man. Sit down before you fall down, you look like a wind sock." _

_Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and guided him back onto the couch, taking a seat next to him. Dean immediately took to staring blankly ahead again. Sam looked at him a moment but was lost to anything he might say. He turned front and leaned back into the couch, deciding to join in the stupor-like scowl that Dean was so fond of. The silence was deafening for a long time, only filled by the occasional squeak from the springs cause by Sam's uncomfortable fidgeting._

_"When do you go?" Dean's low question broke the quiet._

_"Start of fall semester." Answered Sam simply. He could tell Dean was figuring the months til that time. Sam himself counted it out to be about five. Dean made a noise that sounded something like "huh" and Sam knew that the conversation on the matter had closed. He looked down at Dean's bandaged hand._

_"How's your hand?" _

_Dean shrugged vaguely. _

_"Does it hurt? You wanna take something for it?"_

_Dean raised his eyebrows and sighed out an answer. "Yeah."_

_He leaned forward and took up the glass of whisky Sam had stolen away from him. He drained a large amount of the remaining liquid and hardly made a face as he swallowed the warm bite of the alcohol. Sam waited a few moments to ask the question he knew he and Dean were both thinking._

_"What do you think Dad will say?"_

_Dean turned his head slowly to look at Sam. His right eyebrow arched slightly and a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes shaped his lips. Sam nodded shortly._

_"That's about what I figured too."_

_Sam hoped that Dean didn't catch the flicker of fear that he let register on his face for the briefest second. He and John had had quarrels before, but both brothers knew that the one that was soon to come would take the cake; along with a good part of the entire bakery. Dean growled out a sigh and looked down at the shattered glass on the ground. He nudged Sam's arm and held up the tumbler of whisky to him. _

_Sam looked between the beverage and Dean a few times before accepting the glass. He braced himself and threw back the last of the alcohol. Sam's features squeezed up as he forced himself to swallow. He let out a disgusted grunt, drawing a light chuckle from Dean. _

_"Ugh, that's awful." _

_-----------------------------------------------------_

A loud rapping by his left ear broke the spell Sam's mind had had on him. Sam jumped and looked over. Dean was looking at him through the window of the Impala, eyebrows raised in a questioning look. Sam looked around. He was back at the motel. He had driven the whole way back and not really realized it. _"Well _that _was safe."_

"So you just gonna chill out here with the engine running?" Dean asked through the window.

"W-what?" Sam gave him a confused look.

"Some hippies waving signs and screaming about the ozone layer might show up soon." Dean's tone was light and playful.

"Oh." Sam said blankly, realizing just now the the Impala's engine was in-fact still running. He pulled out the keys and reached into the back-seat for his bought-items. Dean opened the car door for Sam.

"How long was I just sitting there?" Sam asked as they both walked back into the motel room.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Five minutes maybe? Tell ya what, you're buying gas next time, dude."

Sam chuckled and dropped their food and drink on the table. Dean looked him up and down questioningly.

"What were you doin' out there any way?"

Sam shrugged and looked out the window at the Impala. "I don't know. Just...thinking."

Dean was quiet and Sam could tell he still had more questions. Questions he didn't particularly feel like answering right then. Sam selected a bottle from the holder and tossed it to Dean.

"Here. They had the good stuff."

Dean caught it, a pleased grin spreading over his face as he read the label.

"Ah, score!"

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_I realized I was curious as to what Dean's reaction might have been when Sam was accepted to college. In the show, he never really seems angry that Sam went to college, so I can only assume that he was heart-broken when Sam left._

_By the way. The name of the cashier? Graflin? That's an anagram I made up for Fangirl. HAHAHAHAHAHA! Cause that's about the way a fangirl would act if she saw Jared I think._

_So, hope ya'll enjoyed:D _

_It's Dean's turn to reminisce next...what happened the days following his mother's death?...Find out next time; )_

_Reviews are like causing harm to Dean's left shoulder...and I'm the Supernatural writers._

_oOo-Lil-oOo_


	7. 1983

_Ok so this is almost purely, complete Mini!Fluff, but hey it's so damn cute thinking of the boys as kids. There's a chance I over did it, like I usually do, but I hope ya'll like. I think it's probably pretty sweet:D I apologize for not posting it as quickly as I had said._

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**Chapter 7**

_"...I'm watching out for you."_

_"Yeah, I know you are."_

_----------------_

A hunt. At last a news headline holding definite promise of supernatural activity. To most people, the report of three suicides in Cortez, Colorado on the six o' clock news was just a series of tragic incidents involving tortured teens. But to Sam and Dean, it was one of two things: a vengeful spirit, or a demonic attack.

"Maybe they just killed themselves." Shrugged Dean, always applying the suggestion of simple everyday tragedies before being shot down by Sam's knowledge drawn from research.

"All three victims were happy, one of them being "Almost too bubbly" according to one interviewed friend. They didn't know each other, didn't go to the same school. But the aspects they all have in common are they they were all seventeen, and they all committed suicide in the exact same place, in the exact same way."

Sam leaned back from studying the articles on his laptop computer and looked up at his brother with a "So there!" look on his face.

Dean paused for a second then nodded. "Ok so maybe they_ didn't_ just themselves. The town got a history?"

Sam tapped his splayed fingers lightly over the keyboard. "No...not that I can find so far, but I mean the way this kids all killed themselves..." Sam shrugged and puffed out a breath. "...It's just kinda odd."

Dean made a clicking sound out of the side of his mouth. "True...alright, well we'd better get a move on it. Colorado ain't exactly a stone's throw away."

Sam's dimples deepened as he shut down his laptop and snapped it shut. He looked up at Dean with a playful smile.

"Stone's throw away? That's a little Farmer Brown for you isn't it, Dean?"

Dean smiled and put his hands up. "Hey, I'm not the one who wore overalls in the fifth grade, man."

Sam laughed. "It was a cool thing to wear at that age."

Dean turned with a chuckle and snatched up his duffle bag from the corner.

"Yeah, says you." He shot back over his shoulder. He went about gathering his belongings scattered about the room, happy to hear Sam's cheerful laugh at his retort.

"Get your stuff, we'll leave tonight."

He heard Sam utter a quiet agreement and slide his computer off the table. They both shuffled about, collecting dirty clothes, the weapons they always dispersed in various places about their hotel room, and assorted other items that had strayed during the past few days. Dean shoved a red over-shirt into his overly-packed duffle bag and began trying various methods to get the zipper closed. Soft, barely audible, humming drifted over to Dean. He stopped applying his weight on the bag in attempts to close it and looked up, eyes narrowing and ears straining to place the tune that Sam hummed. He stood up, a puzzled yet amused smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Wha-?" Dean chuckled and turned to face Sam. "What is that? Since when do you hum?"

Sam looked up and laughed lightly, a sheepish grin spreading over his face.

"Uh...I...I just can't get this song out of my head. Don't know why." He laughed again. "Sorry."

Dean shook his head a little and turned back to the task the duffle offered. "Nah, whatever. Just don't start skipping around the place."

He pounced on the bag and successfully half closed the zipper. Sam's humming started up again after a minute. Dean smiled and shook his head. The tune sounded familiar. When Sam had first started up, Dean knew that he had knew the song. He tugged the bag all the way closed with a triumphant tug and stopped short as Sam's humming got a little louder, allowing Dean a better listening of the notes. His face fell a little bit. He was finally able to place the song.

**November 1983**

_Dean sat on the window seat in the living room; his tiny fists propped up his head as he looked out the window, searching for any signs of his father's car and return. It had been a mere five days since the fire and his mother's death. Dean was sad that she was gone, though he still didn't understand why or how. _

_John had dropped four year old Dean and baby Sam off at an unfamiliar house under the care of an unfamiliar man and had left to "Find answers." That was three days ago; he hadn't been back since. Dean was shy towards the man named Bobby, but he decided that the man was ok; and Dean even allowed him to go near Sam every once in awhile. _

_Dean's forehead pressed against the window and his breath clashed with the biting cold outside in a clouded blotch on the glass. His bright, green eyes looked around carefully at the world outside. Snow blanketed the ground and more flakes blew down to add to the ever-growing drifts. _"Where's Daddy?" _He thought, frowning slightly. Dean scratched at the frost on the opposite side of the pane. He didn't remember the last time he had gone this long without seeing his father. The cry of a newly awakened child pulled Dean's attention to the makeshift crib in the corner of the room. He quickly climbed off the window seat and ran over to his baby brother. Dean stood on the tips of his toes and leaned over the side of the crib. _

_"Whatsamatter, Sammy?"_

_The infant wiggled around unhappily and kicked off his blanket. Dean looked down at Sam with great concern; his soft features furrowed into an expression aging way beyond his years. _

_"Daddy'll be back soon, ok?"_

_Dean reached into the crib and pulled the blanket back over Sam._

_"Don't cry, s'ok."_

_Sam's tiny hand caught Dean's pinky and closed around it as Dean started to withdraw his arm from the crib. Dean smiled and wrapped his hand around the small fist. Sam's crying subsided to little hiccups and he opened his tear-drowned eyes to look at Dean._

_"It's ok, Sammy. I'm here."_

_Dean smiled reassuringly at his little brother. Sam looked intently at the green gaze staring down at him._

_"I'm watchin' out for ya."_

_Sam's big, sea-green eyes looked with seeming fascination at his big brother. Dean smiled and jiggled Sam's hand._

_"And I always will be. I promise." _

_The infant smiled and kicked his legs playfully. Dean laughed at how Sam's dimples took up most of the room on his cheeks. He rubbed and tickled the child's belly, coaxing a jingly giggle from Sam. Dean felt fresh feelings of protectiveness and love for his little brother. _

_"I'll never let anything bad happen to you." _

_Sam's joyful expression turned to one of complete seriousness. Both young brothers just stared at each other for a few minutes; each taking in the other's presence. _

_"Go back to sleep, Sam." Dean sighed. _

_But Sam showed no intention of shielding or even moving his attention away from him. Dean tried to think of a way to help Sam fall back asleep. John always told him stories before bed to help him sleep, but Dean wasn't as good as making up tales of adventure and victory as his father was. Mary used to hum or sing to him whenever he got scared. Her voice never failed to calm Dean and it always lulled him to sleep. Dean could do that. He had memorized a number of John's favorite songs. They weren't exactly lullabies, but there were the only thing Dean had ever known._

_"Before you slip into, unconchyness..." Dean gently rocked Sam's hand back and forth with the slow rhythm of his own voice. _

_"...The days are right, and filled with pain. In clothes me in your gentle brain..." _

_Sam yawned widely and appeared to fight the heaviness that weighed on his lids. He let out a little sigh, taking in the sound of Dean's soft singing, not knowing or even caring that the lyrics were less than verbatim. His eyes closed finally and Dean dropped his voice a little lower._

_"...De river me from reasons why you'd rather cry, I'd rather fly..." _

_Sam's fingers loosened slightly around Dean's pinky. _

_"...When we get back, I'll drop a rine." Dean nearly whispered the finish to the song as Sam once again slept soundly. He smiled and put his hand gently on top of Sam's nearly bald head. _

_"Everything ok in here?" _

_Dean's head shot in the direction of the voice. Bobby stood across the room, looking over at the sleeping baby Winchester and the older one standing next to him._

_"Yeaheverything'sfinehe'sasleep." Dean said in stiff jumble of words, his gaze fixed with a mild warning on Bobby. Bobby smiled and shook his head lightly as he turned to leave the room. Dean kept his eyes on the older man until he completely disappeared from sight. He was pretty sure Bobby was alright, but at the moment he didn't feel like letting him near Sam. He looked back down at Sam's little hand cradled in his._

_At the age of four, Dean knew little of the world and he didn't understand most of it, but he knew a few things. Never talk to strangers, never cross the street without holding mommy or daddy's hand, and many other basics that parents always impress upon their children. But there was also one other thing that he had learned. Something he had learned more on his own than with the help of his parents. And that was that the second John put Sam in his hands and into his care; the moment Dean stood holding his brother tightly in his arms as he stared at the glow of flames burning in the upstairs window, that Sam was his responsibility. That it was Dean's personal job to keep him safe. A mere ten months out of turning four years old, Dean had sworn to himself that he would always look out for Sammy, and do anything and everything in his power to keep him safe. Dean squeezed his little brother's hand and repeated his promise carefully and quietly._

_"I'm watchin' out for ya." _

_-------------------------------------------------_

"...-Starting to freak me out, man."

Dean blinked and looked around. He was sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala. Sam was driving and they were already cruising down a darkened highway. Sam was looking at him, confusion and mild worry creasing his forehead.

"What?" Dean asked blankly, looking over at Sam.

Sam laughed nervously. "I said you're starting to freak me out. What's up with you? You've looked like a zombie ever since we left the hotel."

Dean had been so caught up within his own mind that he hadn't even remembered anything after he figured out what Sam was humming. He pushed himself up farther in the seat and cleared his throat.

Sam frowned at him. "Dean, are you okay? You've kinda been acting weird lately."

"What are you talkin' about, you've been acting weirder than me, dude." Dean shot back defensively.

Sam put a hand up defensively. "Okay, it's not a competition. I'm just saying."

Dean fidgeted and looked out to watch the drab scenery go by in a flash. Except for the sound of wind brushing over the Impala's surface and the steady hum of the engine, silence reigned in the car.

"The Doors." Dean mumbled finally.

Sam's eyebrows dipped low over his eyes and he pulled his eyes from the road again. "What?"

"The Doors, The Crystal Ship. Tha-that's the song you were singing."

Sam's eyes flicked around a few times before his quizzical expression relaxed into one of recognition.

"Oh right!" He nodded and a smile spread over his face.

"How did you know that?"

Dean looked ahead, yet towards the past again, with a small smile on his face. Deciding after a moment to not share his thoughts, he snagged the box of classic rock of the floor and held it up with a smirk.

"Don't question the master."

"I'll be sure to remember that if I ever meet him."

Sam quipped as he snagged a Bad Company cassette from the cluttered box. He chuckled at Dean's juvenile mimicking and pushed the tape into the player. "Movin' On" played appropriately as the Impala and its occupants continued down the road towards Colorado.

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**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:Notice:!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**I will be on vacation in Australia for the next three weeks and will not be able to post updates. I will try my darndest to write them while I'm there though, I promise. Also, any of those reading my other fic Never More To Go Astray, I am SOOO freakin' sorry for not posting an update in forever. I have come up with some new ideas though and I will also try to write them on vacay as well..that is all:D**

_Ok so who else is as excited as hell that the 31st is almost upon us?!?!?!?!? I canNOT freakin' wait!! I may explode._

_Before you think I gave ya'll all that random information about the boys' next hunt for no reason whatsoever, I will tell you that it will be continued in the next chapter:D_

_I hope this is working out ok. Sort of a dual-storyline going on here. PLEASE let me know, any and all advice is happily accepted and encouraged._

_Reviews are like making Sam and Dean/fangirls cry/be EMO...and I'm Kim Manners(Seriously, look back. He has done almost ALL the EMO episodes. Shadow, Devil's Trap, In My Time Of Dying, Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things, Houses Of The Holy, Heart(HOLY FREAKIN' HELL!!!OO) AHBL2, Fresh Blood...The little man loves to make our boys cry!!!!)_

_o-oo-oOo-Lil-oOo-oo-o_


	8. 1993 to 2007

**(Some Very Apologetic) Notes**

_You guys have no idea how sorry I am about my terrible lack of updates. Nearly every day I stop and go "Jeez, I haven't updated my fic since freakin' January!" And for that I apologize. I hope that I have not forced anyone away because of my suckiness. But here it is finally...AN UPDATE!!-Gasp- And since I somehow blanked and couldn't exactly remember where I had the story going, I had to come up with something else. This chapter is gonna be just a little bit different. _

_Alright, so of course because this story was set after the S2 finale and we are now in S4 and already know how Dean's deal ended, so the story is a bit messed up. So I hope ya'll don't mind reading "in the past."_

_Perhaps I'll wrap this story up pretty soon?? __**Tell me what you guys want to see. A final chapter? Or many more to come? Suggestions for reminiscent scenes?**_

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**Chapter 8**

_"Dean's your weakness. The bad guys know it too...it's gonna be the death of you, Sam."_

_-.O.-.O.-.O.-.O.-_

"So this is the place, huh?" Dean wrapped both hands around the railing and leaned over a bit to look down at the water rushing by.

"Yep. This is where all the articles indicated." Sam joined his brother in examining the noisy river below.

Dean pushed back off of the railing and turned to survey the old, rusty bridge. He walked slowly along the wooden planks, reaching into his jacket for the EMF as he carefully evaluating his surroundings.

"What's with people in jumping off bridges these days?" Dean wondered aloud as he flipped on the meter. "Why can't they just off themselves in the nice, quiet safety of their own home? Why do they gotta make it a public thing?"

Sam scrunched up his lips and looked at Dean with mild disapproval of his lack of sympathy for the tormented.

"Doesn't sound like they wanted to make it a thing at all. I'm telling you, something's not right here."

Dean flicked at the EMF's screen when the needle failed to jump into the red. He made a low _Hmm _sound and turned to walk back to Sam.

"Maybe, maybe not. Not getting any reading on the EMF though." Dean palmed down the antenna and looked up at Sam. "But why do I sense a Sammy-theory in the forecast." Dean smiled triumphantly when Sam shifted his weight: the number one sign that his prediction had been correct.

"Well, I was thinking spirit-related influence. Ya know maybe all the victims were passing by here, had a run-in with the spirit of someone who fell off this bridge-"

"And the spirit is reenacting its death by tossing their asses into the drink." Dean finished, picking up on his brother's train of thought. Sam nodded and shrugged lightly.

"Spirits are sort of hell-bent on making their victims suffer the same way they did."

Dean squinted a bit and flipped the EMF back on, sweeping it along a stretch of the bridge's railing.

"True, but like I said..." He held up the meter and danced it back and forth. "...Nada."

"It wouldn't explain why the suicides cycle every month instead of every year, though."

Dean's arms flopped heavily down at his sides and he craned his head back. He growled out an aggravated noise.

"Gah, this case is giving me a headache already."

Sam chuckled. "Dude, we've only been in town a couple of hours."

"Yeah yeah." Dean mumbled. He blew out a breath and walked back over to Sam. "Speaking of which, what time is it?"

Sam glanced at his watch before returning his hand to the warmth of his jacket pocket.

"Five til midnight."

Dean nodded and stowed the EMF in his pocket. "Five minutes til the twenty-fifth. Guess we'll find out soon enough if that little theory of yours has any truth behind it."

Sam nodded, but looked unsure. "If it_ is_ a spirit, we'd better start gearing up."

Both brothers headed back to where the Impala was parked on the side of the bridge. Their boots clunked in and out of sync with each other as they walked. The water in the river created pleasant background, and at the moment the only, noise as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped open the weapon-stocked wheel well. Sam picked up two of the shotguns and handed one to Dean. After checking and finding that the shells in the chamber were empty, Sam pulled out the old shells and dug new salt-rounds out of compartment in the lid of the tire well. Deep in thought, and focusing on the task at hand, it took Sam a few moments to feel his brother's eyes watching him.

Sam looked up, pausing halfway through closing the shotgun's chamber. Dean was watching him, a strange mix of love, concern, and uncertainty showing in his eyes. The look had become a frequent one over the past year. Sam had become very familiar with it and although he wanted more than anything to ignore it, he knew he had to inquire.

"What?"

Dean looked at him for a moment longer before dropping his gaze to the shotgun in his hands. Slowly, disinterestedly, he loaded rock salt shells into the twin chambers of the gun.

"Just wondering uh..." Dean paused and took in a deep, measured breath. He clicked the gun's chamber closed but kept his eyes on it as he continued. "...Just wondering how you're doin'."

Sam felt the muscles in his shoulders and back tense and the tight feeling that had become a nearly constant presence lately returned to his chest. He didn't need to ask Dean to elaborate, Sam knew what he was referring to. It had caught him off guard though. He hadn't been expecting the subject of the nearing close of Dean's year to be brought up on this particular hunt. Nothing had really happened to provoke Dean to mention it. That was, in-fact, one of the reasons Sam had taken interest in the hunt. Actually Sam often found himself measuring his words and actions to prevent any confrontations when it came to the matter. He swore he'd find a way out of the deal for Dean, but besides that Sam really didn't care to talk about it.

"Dean..." Sam sighed out, the one word loaded down with wariness and frustration. Dean's seemed-fascination with the gun ended and he looked up at his brother.

"I'm just saying. We both know there's only a few months left. I'm just...I wanna know if you're alright-"

"_Alright_?" Sam scoffed loudly, suddenly angry. He turned to face Dean, not missing the surprise and mild hurt on his brother's face but not really caring. "Of course I'm not alright, Dean. My brother is going to Hell in fifty-nine days and there's still no solution in sight. Would _you _be alright?"

Dean closed his eyes wearily, his shoulders sagging. He turned to mirror Sam's stance. "Sam, it's just-"

"Would yoube alright, Dean?" Sam repeated flatly, his voice hard and low. Dean closed his mouth, as if rethinking what he had planned on saying. He lowered his head a little and just looked back at Sam's wild eyes.

"No. You wouldn't be." Sam answered for him when Dean continued to say nothing. He violently tossed the shotgun back in the trunk and stepped closer to Dean. "You'd be a mess. You'd be scared, you'd be freaked..." Sam counted off on his fingers. "You'd be pissed, you'd be reckless. You'd be everything I am every hour of every day. So no, I'm not alright. And you can't fool me anymore by pretending that you are. You told me yourself, Dean. You're terrified."

"Oh well excuse me for showing a little concern for you from time to time." Dean raised his voice to match Sam's onslaught, taking another step forward so they were a little under a foot apart.

A cloud of breath puffed thickly between them as Sam laughed bitterly.

"From time to time? Dean, all you _do _is worry about me. Hell, that's how you got yourself into this in the first place."

"I just want to make sure you'll be okay. Just...promise me you'll be alright afterwards."

Sam shook his head shortly, his jaw clenching tightly.

"I can't promise that. And I won't. It would just be a lie."

The truth of the statement stole the air from Dean's lungs. That was all it came down to: Sam was _not _going to be alright or anything resembling so. As much as Dean tried to convince himself otherwise, that Sam was stronger, that he could get over it, he knew deep down that Sam was going to be just as broken as he himself had been that night in Cold Oak, South Dakota. A shine clouded over Sam's eyes that forced Dean to look away; he didn't want to see the pain he was causing his brother. He _knew _what Sam felt. Dean had felt it every day following the morning he woke up choking on a breathing tube. He knew how if felt to have someone he loved give their life for him. The guilt Dean felt for putting that burden on Sam's shoulders was just another chewing emotion on top of every other one that he was feeling. Dean went from terrified, to remorseful, to relieved a thousand times a day, but not once did he feel regret. Not once did he ever wish he had not made that deal. He'd done it without hardly thinking twice, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Dean heard the sound of the cloth of Sam's jacket move and he heard Sam sniff quietly. He gave Sam a moment to collect himself before looking cautiously up again. Sam was looking away somewhere over the top of the Impala. His eyes still glistened, but their heart-breaking gaze was no longer focused on him.

Sam flapped his hand quietly against his thigh in a nervous tic he'd picked up over the years and he shook his head curtly. He knew that Dean was going to Hell in a few short months, but Sam felt that he himself was already there. _This _was his Hell. Watching every hour slip away with no hope of stopping them ticking by or of breaking Dean's deal. Every search that rendered him useless felt like a waste, for it was precious time he had not spent with Dean. Sam often felt himself caught between the two, and the pressure weighed on him heavily.

It wasn't fair. Then again nothing in either of their lives had ever been fair. But this, to Sam, was just downright cruel. Dean was the best man he knew. He was selfless, courageous, loyal, loving. He was...well, he was Dean. And he didn't deserve what he had coming. For that, Sam felt guilty. He knew that Dean had done this for him. It was all his fault, Sam had concluded that many times over in the past few months. He had let himself get taken at the diner. He'd let his guard down. Sam had let himself get killed. And because of all the things he felt he'd done wrong, Dean was going to suffer. _Was _suffering. Sam saw it in his brother's eyes everyday, despite how hard Dean tried to hide it. He'd admitted it to Sam twice. Perhaps the only two times he'd ever admitted to being frightened in his entire life. _"I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to Hell." _And _"I'm scared, Sam...I'm _really _scared." _In one year, a little over three hundred days, Dean had let his walls down twice.

After Broward County, Sam had a much better understanding on what Dean had gone through in Cold Oak, but it didn't stop the guilt and it didn't stop the truth from being the same: Dean was going to die if he couldn't stop it. And no Trickster would be around to magically bring him back this time. Sam puffed out a heavy sigh and blinked slowly to look back at his brother.

"Dean, it's just-" Without warning Sam was yanked back and tossed into one of the support beams lining the railing of the bridge.

"Sam!"

Both brother's had been so caught up in their own minds and personal struggles that they hadn't noticed that the five minutes that separated them from midnight had ticked away. Sam felt himself hit the support beam with enough force to make a dull _gong _sound. Air whooshed out of his lungs and he slid to the ground with a pained groan. Sam's eyes squeezed tightly shut as he gulped for air. A strangled-sounding breath, and his chest heaved with grateful inhales. The sound of Dean calling his name, conveying a sharp edge of danger, snapped Sam's eyes open again. A sharp breath sucked in between his lips as Sam found himself looking up at a misty figure standing over him. Round, pain-filled eyes looked down at him. The ghosty lips turned down in a sad frown and long blond hair, fluttering from a seemingly non-existent wind, fell around the girl's shoulders. In life, she could not be more than nineteen or so, but the sorrow in her eyes betrayed her number of years. The spirit tilted her head to the side a little. The look of sympathy that the girl fixed on Sam sent a chill through him. Something close to...understanding smoothed the girl's features and, with speed only gifted to beings of the other world, she reached down and put a ghostly hand on the side of Sam's head.

Sharp, icy pain jolted through Sam and suddenly he was watching his own memories flash quickly before his eyes. The images swirled faster and faster until Sam felt as if he was falling. He heard his named called and the unmistakable bang of a shotgun before reality shifted and faded.

**October 1995**

_"Damnit, Sam! I told you to stand guard!"_

_John kicked the door open the rest of the way after Sam unlocked their motel room. He rushed quickly past his youngest son, cradling his oldest, bleeding, in his arms. _

_"I didn't see it, Dad. I-...I'm sorry." Sam quickly rushed into the room after his father and brother and hastily closed the door behind him, locking every mechanism on the door. "I'm sorry." Sam repeated shakily as he ran to where his father had placed Dean on one of the motel beds. He watched helplessly, his heart racing and chest heaving, as John fussed about Dean's still, blood-covered body. John lifted the soaked bandage on the boy's chest and made a growling noise before letting the dressing fall back and running out of the room into the small kitchen. _

_Sam took the moment to assess his brother's injuries for himself. He took two, cautious steps to stand by the side of the bed. Dean's body trembled, his closed eyelids fluttering along with the movement. The amount of blood scared Sam. He'd seen Dean take some terrible beatings before, but this...this was bad. And it was all his fault, Sam knew that. He was supposed to be watching Dean's back while Dean was watching their father's back. But the thing had moved so fast, had come out of nowhere. Sam had gotten a shot off and was able to alert his brother enough for him to turn in his direction, but still the beast had gotten Dean. It had jumped on him, knocked him down and pinned him. Sam prayed to God that he'd be able to forget the sound of his brother's screams as the other-worldly animal clawed and tore at him. It only took two, well-placed shots on John's part to successfully kill the creature, but the damage inflicted could not be undone. Sam had started to blame himself even before his father's scoldings, but after John had finished his verbal reprimands, Sam felt as if he might die from guilt._

_Dean, being the person he was, had made a point to reassure Sam that it wasn't his fault before shock took over, but Sam knew his brother was wrong. Sam knew he should have been more alert and aware of his surroundings, instead of resenting the fact that he had to skip his best friend's school play, a play he'd promised he'd be at, to go on a hunt. Sam picked up a clean towel lying near the head of the bed and removed the now-useless bandage covering Dean's marred chest, placing the fresh towel over the wound and applying gentle pressure. Quiet tears rolled down Sam's flushed cheeks as his attempts coaxed a weak groan from Dean. Sam sniffed and looked up at his brother's pale, pain-pinched face._

_"I'm so sorry, Dean. You would've found a way to stop it if that thing had come at me...I should've prevented this." _

_Sam watched the lines his brother's face smoothed, and he hoped for a moment that Dean would regain consciousness. Instead, the tremors stopped. The flutter of Dean's closed eyelids slowed and stilled, as did the shaky rise and fall of his chest. Sam felt as if a giant hand had wrapped around him and squeezed hard._

_"Dean?...Dean!? Dad! DAD, come quick!"_

_Dean's heart had stopped that night. It had taken John nearly ten minutes to revive him and the rest of that night the eldest and youngest Winchester had held a beside vigil at Dean's side, hoping and praying that he would pull through._

-.O.-.O.-.O.-.O -

Sam's mind swirled and the memory faded, leaving him in a pitch blackness. He pulled in deep, shaky breaths and felt only a little surprised to feel tears on his face. He felt sick with the guilt that the memory stirred up, as if it were new. Why had that happened anway? _"He died...he _died_ because of you. Why didn't you focus? Pay attention to the task at hand?" _Sam startled a bit at the voice that seemed to come from the very darkness surrounding him. He didn't recognize it. It was soft and female and cold... _"You could have spared him that pain."..._But it spoke the truth and Sam found himself unable to deny that.

"I tried." Sam's voice cracked. _"Not hard enough." _The very voice itself seemed to stir up emotions inside of Sam, and he found himself fighting to keep it together.

"I'm sorry." _"Tell that to your brother...and your girlfriend."_

"No." Sam choked out, reaching desperately out into the void around him, as if to prevent what he felt was about to happen, but the images had already started to fly by again, the memories going by as if pieced together in a slide show. Reality bled into the past again.

**October 2005**

Sam twitched as he felt light splashes on his forehead. Opening his eyes he saw her above him, her lovely features frozen in a look of pain and confusion, stomach bleeding. Before he could react, fire erupted around her, consuming her, taking her away from him.

_Sam sat straight up in bed with a gasp. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and chest and more rolled down his face. He dragged in deep breaths as he forced himself to remember that it was just a nightmare. He felt Jessica shift beside him and he looked over to see her sit up, her features scrunched with sleepiness, but filled with concern nevertheless. She place a hand gently on Sam's back._

_"Everything ok?" Her words slurred with fatigue. Sam nodded quickly and poked his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing hard._

_"Yeah, m'fine." _

_Jessica nodded and rested her head against Sam's shoulder, closing her eyes. _

_"Mmyou sure?"_

_Sam puffed out a deep breath and nodded. _

_"Yeah. Just had a bad dream that's all." He said as he turned and eased them both back down to the pillows. He hooked an arm around Jess' stomach and pulled her close, using her presence to ward off the remnants of his nightmare. Jess snuggled comfortably back against him and put her hand over his._

_"Mmk...tell me if you ever...wanna talk...about it."_

_Sam took advantage of the fact that she was already asleep and didn't respond. He lay there, eyes open, staring out the window over Jess' shoulder. That had been the fourth night in a row that he'd had the exact same dream. At first, he thought it had just been a bad dream, but now it was starting to get to him. It was starting to freak Sam out a bit. He knew he'd feel better if he talked about it with someone, so they too could tell him "Oh, it was just a silly dream." and he could get over it. But he didn't _want _to tell anyone about it. Verbalizing what he saw would make it more real in his mind, Sam knew that. Besides, it _was _just a dream right? A typical nightmare? It was perfectly normal._

_He pulled Jess a little closer, allowing himself to breathe in the scent of her hair. The light, clean smell pulled Sam's eyes closed and quietly reassured him that he was worrying about nothing. It was just a nightmare. Everyone had them. Pulling in one more deep breath of Jess' scent, Sam fell into a dreamless sleep._

-.O.-.O.-.O.-.O -

_"She asked you what was wrong every single time you woke up from that dream." _The voice hissed accusingly_ "And you never told her the truth."_

Sam felt the grief welling in his chest increase until he was panting for breath, quiet sobs hiccuping with each exhale.

"I didn't-...I didn't know." _"Yes you did. You felt there was something wrong, you just chose to ignore it."_

Sam couldn't find anything to say. The voice was right.

_"You could have saved her. If only you hadn't been so bent on trying to be normal."_

Again it was right. Sam had thought about that for months after Jessica died. How he should have stopped it, _could _have stopped it, if only he'd warned her somehow. Sam waited as the voice remained quiet for a moment. He brushed at the tears running down his face. His eyes darted around, trying to see anything in the complete darkness.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked the voice, anger suddenly creeping into his broken voice. "What do you want from me?!" He demanded loudly.

The voice didn't answer, leaving absolute silence to engulf him. Sam pulled in a few shaky breaths and tentatively reached his hand out. He swept his arm carefully through the air in front of him, hoping that maybe he could find-

_"You won't find your brother." _The cold retort cut off Sam's brief hope of solace. He let his arm drop, his hands immediately clenching at his sides.

"Why? Where is he? I swear to _God_ if you-"

_"Relax, he's not a part of this. It's you I'm interested in." _

The unexpected reply stopped Sam short. His anger melted away and he swallowed over the sudden lump of fear in his throat.

"Why?" He asked in a husky voice.

An odd whistling noise that sounded vaguely like a deep inhale reached through the darkness.

_"Because I can relate to you." _The voice said, something close to respect sounding in the words. It sent a chill down Sam's spine.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam breathed hard, his heart beating faster, as he waited for a reply. Instead, the darkness parted and memories flicked by as if his life had been set on fast forward.

He watched helplessly as a handful of incidents where Dean had put his own life in danger to protect him flashed by. The werewolf when Sam was ten, the Churel when he was thirteen, multiple malevolent spirits and demons, all flicking by so fast and with such vibrant detail that Sam's breath caught in his chest. The images continued to fly by as the voice spoke, as if narrating the instant-replay of all the tragedy in Sam's life.

_"You've undergone such pain and sadness throughout your life, Sam."_

Sam's heart fell as he watched Dean suffering at the hands of the Yellow-Eyed Demon that night at the cabin.

_"We are the same."_

At the hospital, watching from the doorway as doctors rushed to resuscitate Dean, watching later as they failed to do the same with John.

"S-stop...please." Sam whispered hoarsely, feeling himself unable to prevent the voice from getting through to him.

_"I too suffered terrible heartache in my lifetime, Sam. I know how painful it can be, how hard it is to carry on sometimes."_

Sam watched a familiar memory and again felt the desperation he'd felt when Dean had refused to leave him at the clinic in Oregan. The fear he'd felt at the thought that he might not be able to stop himself from killing his own brother. The memories blurred past and slowed, bringing Sam to his knees as he relived memories he wasn't entirely sure he'd remembered before. He saw his own hands killing Steve Wandell, beating Dean half to death.

"Stop." Sam whimpered, clutching at his head with clawed hands.

_"He loves you very much, doesn't he?" _The voice said almost kindly as the next memory played out: Dean walking into the abandoned house back in Cold Oak, pulling Sam close in a tight embrace.

Sam felt the warmth of tears slide down his face as he stared numbly at his memories, not feeling like fighting them anymore.

"Yes." He said softly.

_"And he will be leaving you soon?" _

Sam saw the look of sheer defeat on Dean's face outside the cemetery when he had forced him to tell the truth about the deal.

"Yes." Sam repeated, even more quietly.

In a drastic change, Sam saw Dean smiling, the two of them laughing, goofing off, just being brothers.

_"Do you want to live with out him?"_

Sam watched himself hug Dean after waking up from hundreds of Tuesdays and six months of hunting alone.

He shook his head weakly, tears rolling steadily down his face. "No." The reply sounded like a light sob. The montage of memories stopped and darkness closed in again.

_"You don't have to." _The voice purred.

Sam blinked, surprised and suddenly intrigued by what the voice had to say. "How?" He asked eagerly, sounding chid-like. Without being able to describe how, Sam _felt _the voice smile.

_"It's so easy. It won't even hurt. You just have to let go."_

Sam swallowed hard, thinking it over. Could it really be that easy?

_"Yes it could be." _The voice answered his unspoken question. It sounded simple enough in Sam's mind. It hurt so much to think of having to live without Dean. Sam wasn't sure he could survive that twice, and honestly, he wasn't interested in finding out if he could either.

_"You wouldn't have to be alone. You wouldn't have to suffer anymore. You wouldn't have to watch your brother die in a few months." _

It certainly sounded appealing. Would Dean be mad at him?

_"He wouldn't be mad." _The voice sounded a little aggravated, but for some reason Sam felt compelled to believe what it said.

"What do I have to do?" Sam said finally, giving in.

_"Just let go." _The voice cooed soothingly. The darkness around Sam lightened a bit and he was able to make out the ghostly figure he had seen before. The sad eyes shown with pity and the young, ghostly features reflected sympathy. The young girl nodded and she held out her hand, palm up, towards Sam. She curled her index finger gracefully in a beckoning manner.

_"All the pain, the sorrow, loneliness...it will all end if you just let go." _Sam saw now that the voice he'd been hearing did indeed belong to the blond-haired girl. She smiled sadly at him and lifted both arms out in front of her, as if offering the promise of an embrace. The girl nodded encouragingly and Sam found himself reaching back for her, leaning forward to accept her invitation. Sam could have sworn the girl's smile turned into a smirk and that her lovely face contorted cruelly into a twisted and terrifying mask, but before he had time to take a second look, the girl vanished and he was falling.

"Sam, NO!"

The familiar voice snapped Sam back to reality with jolting abruptness and he found himself free-falling towards the stream below the bridge. The icy cold of the water hit him like a punch to the stomach, snatching the air from his lungs. He sank heavily below the surface and was instantly swept away by the rapid current. Sam tried to kick his legs, use his arms to propel himself back to oxygen, but found that he could do neither. He couldn't actually _move _at all; his entire body felt paralyzed and numb.

Sam's forced himself to think clearly and everything came rushing back. The possible hunt, the uncertain motive, the spirit. He groaned inwardly. That girl's spirit. _She _had been the one responsible for the "suicides" he and Dean had been investigating. He had been half right about a spirit's influence in the town's recent deaths. Sam felt a wave of shame as he contemplated his own weakness. She had gotten to him, put him under some sort of trance, and tricked him into playing her game. She had made him her next victim. That was what she did. She found people, discovered their weakness and used it to break them. She made them relive their most unpleasant memories and played with their emotions. Basically torturing them psychologically until they couldn't find the will to go on. All those people hadn't jumped to their deaths; they'd been lured to them. Sam wished he could have figured that out _before_ he decided to take a swan-dive into freezing cold water.

A swift roll from the river and Sam scraped against the bottom of the stream. Pain flared in his back as jagged rocks tore through his clothing and over his skin. Sam stifled a groan, forcing himself to not to suck in an instinctive breath of air to brace against the pain. His lungs burned and the cold water stung at his eyes. The current forced water into his nose and mouth, compromising the small amount of air he'd managed to preserve on his descent towards the water. Disappointment in himself quickly faded to panic as Sam realized he wasn't ready to give up. He needed to get back to Dean, get back to finding a way to save him. Panic quickly changed to fear when Sam's body still refused to respond to the commands his brain was giving it and he came no closer to breaching the surface. The sound of the stream rushing around him started to fade and he felt his body relax with the pull of unconsciousness. The voice in his head, not the cold one that had tricked him into jumping off a bridge, but the one that always kept him motivated, comforted, centered, echoed loudly through his mind. _"It can't end like this, Sammy. Don't you dare let it. Fight, damnit!" _The cold feel of defeat wrapped around Sam's chest, providing a strange contrast to the burn in his lungs as his limbs again failed to move. Darkness closed in, pulling at his eyelids and closing them. _"I'm sorry." _Sam hoped Dean wouldn't be angry with him.

_...To Be Continued..._

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**Notes**

_Ok, so like I said...quite different from the other chaps. This one actually had some PLOT in it haha. _

_I hope that was satisfying as a chapter after having to wait for so damn/honking/screwing/freaking long for it. I promise the next one will be up soon._

_Again, tell me what you guys would like to see for this story._

_Reviews are like writing insanely strange yet funny episodes of Supernatural...and I'm Ben Edlund: )_

_O.-Lil-.O_


	9. Now

**Notes**

_Sorry I didn't make an update within the week, but here it is. Again, this one is gonna be a little different, but I'll explain why aftwarwards: )_

_Enjoy(please tehe)_

_Ok I soooo totally accidently posted the wrong document for chapter 9 HAHAHAHAHA-Facepalm- Gah that's....interesting._

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**Chapter 9**

Dean's stomach knotted at the awful clanging sound the support beam made as Sam's body slammed into it. He stood, still frozen in shock over the abrupt change from having a heart-wrenching conversation with Sam to watching something grab his little brother and toss him across the bridge. Dean watched as Sam slid down the beam to land harshly on the bridge. He had started forward when the air over Sam seemed to shimmer and a misty figure appeared. Dean's heart jumped into his throat.

"Sam!" He called warningly, seeing Sam's eyes groggily open in response to his voice. Before Dean could do anything to stop it, the misty figure, clearly a young girl now, reached towards Sam and placed a ghostly hand on the side of his head. Sam's entire body tensed, his eyes snapping closed and clenching in obvious pain.

"Sam!" Dean yelled again, desperate, scared, worried. He raised the shotgun he'd almost forgotten he'd been holding and fired at the spirit. With unnatural rapidity, the girl broke her touch with Sam, leaving him to slump back, unconscious against the planks of the bridge, and disappeared before the rocksalt from Dean's shot could hit its mark. Dean cursed and immediately broke into a run towards Sam's still body. He made it four steps before he was yanked off his feet and thrown back towards the Impala. A loud, unpleasant, warping sound accompanied Dean's collision with the driver's side door and consciousness left him in a star burst of light.

-.O.-.O-.O.-.O-

The painful pounding in his head coaxed Dean back to awareness. His closed eyes clenched when the throbbing became worse as he gradually regained consciousness. Dean lifted a hand to his head, immediately locating a decent sized lump on the upper left side of his forehead. He groaned as the goose-egg protested his touch and he instead worked on getting his eyes open. Stars. Literal stars glittered in Dean's line of sight and he quickly realized that he was lying on his back on the ground. The reason why and what had put him there came rushing back and Dean bolted upright in a sitting position. The bridge around him tilted and he swallowed back a strong feeling of nausea. Dean closed his eyes until he no longer felt as if he was aboard a ship in the grips of a hurricane and opened them to find the world much more cooperative.

He immediately looked over to where Sam had landed on the bridge. Dean's heart slammed a painful beat against his ribs and quickly picked up its tempo. Sam wasn't there. Dean forced himself to his feet and looked around wildly for his brother. He didn't have to search for very long and cold gripped him at what he found. Standing twenty or so feet from where he had last been, on the wrong side of the railing of the bridge, was Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean called, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Sam didn't respond, or even seem to hear his name being called; he just continued to look ahead, seemingly hypnotized by something only he could see. Dean swallowed hard over the tightness of anxiety in his throat and he took a few, cautious steps forward. He kept his gaze fixed on Sam's face the whole time, trying to gauge the situation, terrified of what a wrong move on his own part might do. Sam's expression softened after a moment and he lifted his arms out in front of him as if reaching for something. Dean's eyes widened as Sam started to lean forward.

"Sam, NO!" Dean ditched the cautious approach and broke into a run as Sam plummeted towards the icy rush of water below. He skidded to a halt at the railing and leaned over, eyes darting frantically. A loud splash and a ring of bubbles marked the impact of Sam's fall, but other than that, there was no sign of him.

"Sam!" Dean wasn't sure what he expected to accomplish by screaming Sam's name, but his mind was quickly clouding with too much panic for him to care if he was being irrational. Something breaching the surface of the water forty feet down the stream pulled Dean's attention and he zeroed in on it in time to see what appeared to be Sam's navy blue coat. Dean immediately reacted. He had vaulted over the railing and was falling towards the water before he could even think twice about it.

The water was _freezing._ The shock caused Dean to inhale a quick intake of water and he surfaced, gasping and coughing. Forcing himself to focus on getting to Sam and not on the frigid water soaking through his clothes, Dean began to swim. How long had Sam been in the water? Had he surfaced yet? How were they going to get back to the car? Dean shoved away the thoughts zipping about in his head. _"One damn thing at a time." _

Dean could feel his body starting to respond to the cold. He was already shivering and the muscles working as he swam were starting to freeze up. Literally.

"Aw, come _on._ Sam!" Dean's voice raised to a yell, the action causing him to cough a little as air rushed from his chilled lungs. He let the current alone carry him along as he listened, but when nothing besides the rush of water reached his ears, Dean continued to swim. Panic gripped him tighter after a few minutes of drifting downstream still gave him no sight of his brother.

"S-Sam." Dean breathed out through chattering teeth.

A dark shape appeared no more than twenty feet ahead of him. Dean squinted, not sure if the thing he was seeing was no more than rock. The shape moved, rolling to reveal pale features plastered with dark streaks of hair.

"Sam!" Dean swept his arms quickly through the water, propelling himself faster towards his brother. The river kept Sam just out of his reach for awhile, but Dean was finally able to reach out and snatch a shoulder of Sam's coat. He quickly pulled Sam back up against him and wrapped an arm around his chest.

Sam was dead wait in Dean's arms, clearly unconscious. Dean couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. He swept his free arm through the water to steer them towards the shoreline to the right. It was slow going and Dean was exhausted after having to keep both his and Sam's heads above water, but finally he was able to grab hold of a boulder and brace himself against the current. Dean growled stubbornly and pivoted against the rock so his back was to it. The current pressed Sam against him, compressing Dean's chest and impairing his breathing a little, but Dean didn't care; he needed a moment to rest.

Thick clouds puffed out with each heave of Dean's breath, Sam's weight quickly shortening the intake of each. Dean pulled in one more deep breath and ground his teeth before heaving Sam up onto the grassy shore. His cold muscles complained against the strain, but Dean growled in determination and hefted the rest of Sam's upper body back onto land. He dragged himself out next, the cold air making his water-logged clothing feel like a sheet of ice covering his skin. Dean hooked his arms under Sam's shoulders and pulled his legs and feet out of the water.

"Sam?" Dean gently eased Sam onto his back and knelt down next to him. Sam didn't respond, his eyes remained closed. "Come on, man. Give me something." Dean patted Sam down, checking for any breaks or injuries and finding none. Sam lay there completely still, not even shivering from the cold, his face pale and motionless. The blue tinge of his lips stabbed another shaft of fear into Dean's heart and he suddenly noticed with chilling realization that Sam's chest wasn't moving. His fingers flew to Sam's neck and pressed against the cold skin under his jaw.

"Come on, come on." Dean chanted under his breath. He pressed harder and finally found a steady, though weak, heartbeat. Dean's eyes slipped closed in a brief moment of relief. Recovering quickly, knowing Sam wasn't out of the woods yet, Dean immediately tapped into the training that his father had spent years drilling into his head. He pinched Sam's nose shut and took in a deep breath. He forced air into Sam's lungs, trying to purge them of the water that invaded them and caused them to still. Dean sat back for a moment. Nothing. Sam's chest remained devoid of life-sustaining movement.

"No, Sammy. Help me out here." Dean took in another shaky inhale and breathed it into Sam's lungs. Sam's body tensed and Dean quickly drew back, turning Sam on his side as he coughed copious amounts of water out onto the frosted grass. Dean patted Sam's back gently as he continued to expel water from his lungs and took the moment to regroup. After a final retching sound, Sam rolled weakly onto his back, pulling in deep, stuttering breaths. His body had already acknowledged the cold and chills sent tremors all over him.

Another coughing fit overtook him and Dean quickly pulled Sam up, leaning him forward against himself. Sam's head rolled limply on Dean's shoulder as the rough coughing again eased to a stop, leaving him feeling weak and breathless.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was quiet and scratchy as it stuttered out through chattering teeth. Dean's eyes fluttered closed briefly. It never failed that his name was the first thing Sam always said upon regaining consciousness. He gripped the back of the collar of Sam's jacket and nodded, knowing Sam would feel the confirmation he wanted.

"I d-didn't m-m-mean to-" Sam wheezed.

"Take it easy, Sammy. Breathe for a moment ."

Stubbornly, Sam pulled away, forcing Dean to grab the collar of his coat when he stated to list backwards. Sam's eyes looked desperately at Dean, the need for forgiveness begging in the blue-green depths.

"I"m sorry." He managed to whisper. Dean's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Sam. Now let's get the hell back to the car."

Sam nodded weakly, a breath whistling out through his teeth.

"Cold." He rasped. Dean got to his feet, irrationally angry when his knees almost buckled, and pulled Sam up after him.

"You and me both, little brother." He said before draping Sam's arm over his shoulders and wrapping an arm around his back. Most of Sam's weight leaned heavily against Dean and he had to seriously concentrate on keeping both his and Sam's balance as he turned them both around to head back towards the bridge. Dean felt his spirit crack a little. The distance between them and the warmth and safety of the Impala might as well have been a hundred miles with a shivering Sam leaning heavily against him, not to mention the fact that Dean himself couldn't even feel a good part of his body anymore.

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's wrist and sighed out a cloudy breath. They had to get started sometime, and with hypothermia hanging dangerously over their heads, now seemed like a good time. A few minutes into the slow trek back, the silence filled by little else than frosted foliage crunching under two sets up boots and Sam's wheezy breathing, Sam decided he didn't like the quiet anymore.

"You're sh-shivering." He said quietly. Dean readjusted the arm around Sam and kept his concentration fixed on the uneven earth stretched out before them.

"A midnight swim down a freezing cold river can do that to ya."

Sam expected as much. He realized how dumb his statement must have sounded, but Dean obviously did not decipher the question behind it, so he reiterated.

"You alright?" He asked, trying to get his numb legs to move and help Dean out a bit. The long pause that followed allowed more than enough time for Sam to predict what Dean would say next.

"I'm not the one who stopped breathing, Sam."

"No, but y-you are the one who took a bump to the head then j-jumped into a river."

Dean was about to question how Sam knew that when he remembered the prominent bump on his forehead. He shook his head, amazed how observant Sam was under all circumstances. Even after what had just happened to him, Sam was still completely tuned in to his brother's well-being.

"I'll be alright once I stop feeling like Frosty's understudy."

"Dean..." Sam protested, tripping a little over a root in the meantime. They listed to the side a few feet, but Dean quickly steadied them.

"No memory loss, not dizzy, the headache's a given. Just cold, Sammy. That's all."

That seemed to appease Sam somewhat, at least for now, and Dean heard him breathe out a raspy sigh. They were only about one hundred yards away from the bridge now and the road was in clear sight. Dean had somehow forgotten about the spirit in his panic, but now it jumped to the top of his list of problems. The spirit obviously worked its magic with people when they were on the bridge, and returning to it could easily cause a repeat of the past thirty minutes. They had no weapons, no way to ward off the spirit, and there was no way in hell Dean was letting Sam anywhere near that bridge again. He'd have to leave him and come back with the Impala. Dean frowned at that idea, but there was really nothing else he could do.

Lost in formulating a plan, Dean missed a significant dip in the terrain and he and Sam nearly tumbled to the ground. His hold around Sam's back slipped and Sam yelped suddenly. Dean braced them both from falling and stopped abruptly at Sam's cry of pain. He turned to stand in front of Sam, hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

"Hey, what's wrong? Sam?" Dean squeezed Sam's shoulders and dipped his head to try to catch Sam's down-turned gaze when he didn't respond right away. "What's the matter?"

Sam looked up finally, a bitter, lopsided smile pulling weakly at his mouth.

"I'd almost forgotten about my back." He said quietly, wincing when he attempted a laugh.

"Your back?" Dean's eyebrows raised and Sam nodded. Dean felt his brother's violent shivering beneath his hands and was immediately caught between wanting to take a look at Sam's back and getting him to warmth as soon as possible. His jaw tensed as he weighed his options.

"How bad?" Dean asked. Sam started to shrug, but bit back a groan and seemed to rethink the movement. "One to ten." Dean urged.

"Maybe a three." Sam said after a moment. Dean nodded curtly.

"Translation: six. Could be worse. I'll take a look at it once we get some dry clothes and very _very_ hot showers." Dean pulled Sam's right arm back over his shoulders and gingerly hooked his own around Sam's back.

The frozen earth finally ran into the black asphalt of the road. The bridge and the awaiting Impala were down a little ways to the right, but Dean steered Sam to the left instead.

"Dea-" Sam started, confused as he looked back over his shoulder at the bridge. "Dean, what the hell are you doing? The Impala's back there."

"I know." Dean grunted as he stopped and carefully lowered Sam to the ground, propping him up against the trunk of a large tree just off the road. "Give me a second and I'll be right back with it." Dean immediately turned and headed back towards the bridge

"Dean!" Sam shouted in protest at his brother's retreating back. He brought a fist up to cover his mouth when he started coughing, the sudden expelling of air not sitting well with his tortured lungs. Sam could only assume that Dean heard his coughing fit, because he turned his steady walk into a steady jog.

Dean's heavy footfalls echoed off the steel of the bridge as he hurried towards the Impala, his eyes sharply peeled for any sign of that girl's spirit. He paused to retrieve the shotgun that he'd dropped after his head-on collision with the Impala's driver's side door. Dean mumbled a heated string of curses at the large dent that interrupted the smooth black of the car's surface. He got into the car and turned the key, clenching a fist triumphantly when it started right off.

Throwing the car into drive, Dean peeled off the bridge; he'd bother shutting the trunk once he got away from the bridge and back to Sam. The Impala cleared the bridge without event and Dean thanked whoever it was that had finally decided to give them a break. He stopped right next to where Sam sat, shivering uncontrollably despite that he had wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Dean left the car running and turned the heater up as high as it could go.

He hauled Sam into the car and retrieved a blanket from the trunk, closing it afterwards. Sam had managed to free one of his arms from his coat, but seemed to be having trouble with the other. Dean got back in the car and helped him with the other sleeve before draping and tucking the blanket tightly around him. Sam met his eyes and his trembling lips turned down into a frown. Sam's crumpled brow completed a clear _"What about you?"_ look, but Dean ignored it and pushed the accelerator down hard. He'd worry about himself after Sam was safe in a warm hotel room.

_...To Be Continued..._

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**A few more notes**

_Ok, so there was no flashback in this chapter, but I mean come on...can you imagine Dean being nostalgic and scatter brained when Sam is in danger? No. Also, I'm sure you realized how many time Dean said Sam's name. I noticed that too, but I swear to God those two boys say each other's name more than anyone else I know lol. I'm not even sure I address either of my sisters by their names when I'm talking to them; guess I'll have to pay attention next time. Aaaanywho, irrelevance. _

_But the reason I chose to not make this a none-flashback chapter was:_

_1. It's a necessary bridge(-gigglesnort- bridge) between chapters._

_2. I think the next chapter will be the last and I plan to do something special, so I figured I could make up for the short comings of this chapter in the finale. I'll explain everything that's going on with the spirit and add one last dose of reminiscing._

_Any objections? Suggestions? See me; )_

_Reviews are like...I don't know, I'm too hot right now to come up with something witty._

_-.O.-Lil-.O.-_


	10. Now Part II

**Notes**

_Alright so originally this was going to be the finale chapter, but then I realized that I could not wrap this up in one chapter...which is why I haven't updated in a long time, which I am VERY sorry about: ( I'll never let something like this happen again with another story, cause it sucks for the readers and it's stressful to me._

_Alright to anyone who hasn't subscribed to this story then UNsubscribed cause I suck, I hope you enjoy the chapter and AGAIN...my deepest apologies. I'm just a perfectionist and I refuse to post something unless I feel it is ready._

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**Chapter 10**

Dean fumbled with the key to the motel room with one shaking hand, the other wrapped tightly around Sam's left arm. The heater in the car had succeeded in warming Sam up to the point that he had almost stopped shivering and was probably capable of standing on his own, but still Dean refused to take that chance.

Finally, he was able to fit the key in the slot and unlock it. Turning the knob to release the latch, Dean kicked the door open the rest of the way with his foot. He snaked his left arm inside the room and felt blindly for the predictably located light switch just to the right of the door. He flipped it on and guided Sam into the room. Dean followed and closed the door behind him.

Sam watched with heavy concern as his brother's blue-nailed and shaking hands fumbled with the chain lock on the door. The Impala's heating system had not had such an equally positive effect on Dean. Sam had managed to shed his coat and had had a blanket to fight the cold, but Dean had left his soaking wet jacket on and had given the only blanket to his little brother.

Dean practically growled when he yet again failed to fit the chain into the slot on the door. Sam walked over to the heater below the motel room's single window. He turned it on as high as it would go and looked up at the sounds of sliding metal and Dean's only slightly heartened cry of triumph.

"I have a new appreciation for dead-bolts." Dean said huskily, a small smile crinkling his eyes. Sam immediately noticed the weariness behind the action and he frowned.

"You should take the first shower. You haven't stopped shivering since we left the bridge and I still need to check that." Sam indicated the knot on Dean's forehead with a flick of his eyes. "See if you have a concussion." But Dean was already shaking his head.

"No way. You first. And anyway, I'm fine." Sam's frown deepened when Dean swayed a little on his feet. He hurried over and took the two duffles that his brother was shouldering.

"Thanks." Dean breathed quietly. Sam shouldered the bag and held up his hand.

"What do you see?"

"The pain in my ass personified."

"Fingers, Dean."

Dean huffed a sigh, but finally relented. "Four. And before you ask..." He added quickly, his voice raising a little to cut Sam off when he started to open his mouth. "No spots, no blurring, no numbness in any extremites." Dean raised his eyebrows fractionally, daring Sam to defy his self-assessment. Sam simply let out a long-suffering sigh, narrowed his eyes and focused on Dean's, no doubt checking pupil dilation. "Happy?" Dean asked sarcastically after a few seconds.

"It's hard to contain in sometimes." Sam deadpanned before turning and walking across the room. Dean smiled fondly and watched as Sam went to place the bags on the nearest bed. The smile instantly vanished and Dean's lungs felt as if they'd shuddered to a halt when a blotch of red on the back of Sam's shirt caught his eye. He felt his heart thud painfully and his stomach felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of stones. The still-painful and always weary side of Dean's memory still got the better of him sometimes, and in a flash he saw Sam fall to his knees, felt Sam limp in his arms, saw Sam's blood covering the palm of his hand.

Before Dean realized he was moving, he'd crossed the room and was lifting up Sam's shirt.

"Hey, wha-" Sam started to protest.

"Your back." Dean answered in a hushed voice before Sam could finish inquiring.

"What?" Sam twisted about as if attempting to make his head turn a full 180 degrees and see what Dean was talking about. Dean swallowed as he looked at the two wounds on Sam's back. One, running vertical down Sam's spine in a scar, pink and long since healed. The other, fresh, jagged and dripping blood in a diagonal line close to the former.

Dean blinked, successfully pulling his mind back to wounds of the present.

"It's bleeding. The cold must've stalled it befor-stop moving around so much!" Sam immediately stopped his fidgeting and sighed. Dean went to touch the wound but stopped and grumbled out a breath. "Let me take a look." He gripped Sam's shoulders gently and urged him down onto the bed.

"No. Dean you can't just stay in those wet clothes-"

"Yeah and the more you don't cooperate the longer I'm going to." Dean shot back flatly, fixing Sam with a unyielding stare. Sam's shoulders slumped with defeat and he let Dean help him onto the bed and stretch out on his stomach. He bit back a groan as the wound pulled before pillowing his chin on his hands. Dean grabbed an actual pillow, offered it to Sam, then retrieved the first aid kit from his bag. He pulled a chair up next to the bed and flicked on both lights over the night-stand before taking a seat.

Carefully, Dean lifted up Sam's shirt again, jaw held tightly as he regarded the jagged wound. The improved lighting revealed the beginning of a wide expanse of bruising around the cut.

"One to ten, Sammy." Dean prompted.

Sam seemed to seriously contemplate the question and after a moment. "Six."

Dean frowned and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a square of gauze. He poured a generous amount straight into the wound; who knew how much bacteria was in that river or on whatever was in it that had done this to Sam. The muscles in Sam's back tensed in a violent jolt and a throaty groan came muffled from the pillow. Dean carefully placed the gauze over the wound, his teeth clamping tighter together. No matter how many times he'd had to take care of Sam over the years, stopping him from bleeding, setting a bone, stitching up a wound, Dean had never gotten used to witnessing his little brother's pain. And he was pretty sure he never would either.

Dean lifted the gauze after a moment and gingerly wiped the pink froth that had bubbled out of the wound. The cut wasn't terribly deep, just nasty looking. Dean didn't think it would need stitches; he'd just dress it after Sam had had his shower and leave it at that.

"Happy?" Sam snarked, sounding pleased with himself for being able to throw Dean's words back at him and remind his big brother of the double-standard that had frustrated him his entire life. Dean couldn't help but smile, not able to deny when he'd been checked.

"Sometimes it's hard to contain it all." Quoted Dean, changing Sam's check to a stalemate. They both remained quite as Dean retrieved another square of gauze and tore off four lengths of medical tape.

"M'I gonna make it, doc?" Sam's deep voice rumbled after a few minutes. Dean looked up briefly at the back of Sam's head as he taped the temporary bandage over the cut.

"Not if you keep those smartass remarks comin'." Dean quipped. Sam's breathed laugh blew noisily over the pillowcase and he turned his head to look back at his brother. Dean rolled Sam's shirt down and sat back in the chair.

"Doesn't look too bad, just some bruising on the way. I'll dress it better after you take a shower."

Sam's face screwed up a little in a brief flash of pain as he pivoted to rest on his side, leaning against his elbow.

"Dean, please. For God's sake your fingernails are blue."

Dean made a face at Sam and brought up his right hand, bending all the fingers in towards his palm to study them.

"Huh...guess that's the closest thing I'll ever get to a manicure."

"Dean."

"Okay, fine." Dean pushed himself out of the chair. "Stubborn ass." He threw back at Sam as he walked over to gather dry clothes from his bag.

"Hypocrite." Sam retorted, smiling softly.

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Dean made sure to keep his shower short. If Sam was going to make him go first, he should at least have the decency to leave his little brother some hot water. So exactly six minutes later, Dean stepped into a pair of sleep-pants and pulled a faded, red t-shirt over his head.

The blissfully hot shower had helped ease some of the aches, but Dean still felt chilled.

"Great." He grumbled. All he needed at that moment was to have to deal with a cold. He pulled the door open and walked back out into the room, the slightly cooler temperature making him have to suppress a shiver. Dean flicked his head back towards the bathroom, indicating Sam to have at it. Sam grabbed a change of clothing from his bag and disappeared behind the water-spotted door. Dean lay his wet clothes over various pieces of furniture to allow them to dry then situated himself in a chair conveniently close to the heater.

A squeak from the faucet handle in the shower preceded the sound of running water and Dean felt himself relax for the first time since before everything had happened on the bridge. Now that he didn't have to look brave for anyone, at least for a few minutes anyway, Dean let the events of the last hour and a half file back through his mind.

His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head when he relived the moment in which he had realized Sam wasn't breathing. This had been too close. For the past ten months Dean had managed to keep Sam relatively safe and out of harm's way. He had managed to at least keep him_ breathing_, for God's sake. _"What if Sam had drowned?" _The inevitable question crossed Dean's mind before he could stop it. _"Shut up. He didn't." _And then a moment later "_...But what if he had?" _Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees, and raked his fingers through his still-wet hair. God what if he had lost Sam that night? Dean couldn't have lived with that. Actually, he technically wouldn't have to, not for long anyway.

It suddenly struck Dean that he wasn't sure what he'd almost lost Sam to in the first place. He was sure the spirit had a big something to do with it. It completely fit with the MO of the articles, but Sam had apologized after coming to. Dean remembered brushing it off without a second thought, too focused on getting Sam to warmth and safety, but now curiosity was starting to take hold. Why on earth would Sam apologize to him because of what a spirit had made him do? Dean huffed out a sad laugh and shook his head. _"I swear that kid has the most epic guilt complex in the world."_

"Dean?" Dean quickly sat up at the sound of his brother's voice. Sam stood a few feet in front of him, clad only in a pair of black sweatpants, a clean, gray t-shirt held loosely in his fingers at his side. "You okay?" Sam asked softly, eyes showing obvious concern as the swept over Dean appraisingly.

"Yeah." Dean breathed out. He hadn't really realized how much time had passed since Sam had gone into the bathroom. "I was just...." Dean motioned vaguely with his hand at the room in general. He sighed when no explanation he cared to share with Sam came to mind. "Yeah." Dean finished finally with a crooked smile. Sam's mouth turned up half heartedly, but immediately slid back in an unconvinced frown. Dean motioned at Sam, eager to change the subject. "Come on. I'll patch ya up."

Sam sighed and nodded. He tossed his shirt on the bed ahead of him and carefully eased down on his stomach again. Dean pulled the chair away from the warmth of the heater and to the edge of the bed. The cut on Sam's back had mostly stopped bleeding, but a few stray drops had paused in their roll down his back. Dean wetted another square of gauze with peroxide, just for good measure, and cleaned the wound once more. He allowed a full intake of breath when the action appeared to cause Sam no additional pain.

The already-healed wound on his brother's back pulled Dean's attention again as he secured a piece of gauze over the one he'd received that night. Dean swallowed hard and became suddenly thankful that Sam wasn't inclined to look at him at the moment. His lightly-shaking fingers ghosted unsurely over the pink line dividing Sam's back.

"Does it hurt?" He asked gruffly. Sam shifted a bit from side to side and shook his head.

"No. The peroxide barely even stung this time." Dean allowed his fingers to lightly brush the long scar.

"Not what I meant." The muscles in Sam's back visibly tensed and he became very still. Dean looked up at the back of Sam's water-darkened hair when he didn't say anything for a moment.

"S'been aching a lot more lately." Sam replied quietly, simply. The sound of air blowing from the heater suddenly sounded deafening in the ensuing silence. After a few moments, Sam levered himself up, snagged his dry shirt, and scooted down to sit on the end of the bed. Slowly, eyes downcast and focused on something probably only he could see, Sam pulled the shirt over his head and carefully eased it down. He leaned forward gingerly and let his clasped hands hang between his knees.

"I know what happened to all the spirit's victims." The change of subject caught Dean completely off guard, but it brought back up the question he had been thinking just a few minutes earlier.

"Yeah?" Dean said softly, not wanting to rush Sam. Sam's stare was blank, lost in thought as he nodded lightly.

"She feeds on pain. Digs up your worst memories and your darkest fears and just..." Sam folded down his lips bitterly, shrugging his shoulders briefly. "...Tosses them back at you. And she doesn't stop until you..."

He stopped, but not before Dean's face had softened with understanding. _"Until you don't want to face it all anymore." _The spirit had mentally tortured those people until they'd wanted to leap to their death. She'd done this to _Sam. _The beast inside of Dean that always rears its head whenever anyone or thing messes with his little brother awakened in that moment. _"Bitch is going down." _Dean silently vowed, making an oath to find that girl's bones, dump three pounds of salt on them, and burn them into a fine dust.

"Dean, I'm sorry." The soft voice brought Dean's vengeful train of thought to an abrupt halt and he looked up to find Sam's shiny eyes staring sadly at him. "She...I-I couldn't block her out. I tried, but I couldn't stop it-"

"Knock it off, Sam." Dean cut in, silencing Sam's guilt-ridden apology. "If that's what she does, then there's nothing you could have done about it." Sam huffed out a breath, the movement pulling his shoulders further in towards his head. The stubbornness of Sam's conscience made Dean's head pound...or maybe that was just the recent collision with the Impala's driver's side door or the swim in below zero water talking, but still his brother's self-loathing didn't help in the least. Dean scrubbed a hand across his forehead and began to open his mouth to speak again.

"When I was..." Sam paused and pulled in a breath. "Did you...?" He started to reiterate, but stopped once more. Dean tilted his head to the side a little, curious, sweeping his eyes over his brother's hunched form.

"Did I what?" Dean asked, suspicion coloring his tone ever so slightly. Sam must have noticed the change in Dean's voice, because he flinched minutely and just shook his head.

"Nothing."

Dean looked away from Sam for a moment, the memories that suddenly clouded his mind making him feel cold. He hadn't wanted Sam to ever know about..._that_, but if it would help him to not feel alone or weak, then so be it.

"Yes." Dean said after a deep breath. Sam's profile softened and he looked over at him.

"What?" Sam blinked owlishly at his brother. Dean kept his gaze steady and locked on Sam's.

"In Cold Oak when you were..." Dean's eyes flitted to the side momentarily before returning to Sam's. "I thought about it...a lot."

A mix of surprise, relief, pain, and just a hint of anger passed over Sam's expression. He opened his mouth, his bottom lip trembling slightly before he closed it again. Dean continued when it was clear that Sam didn't really know how to respond to that.

"I realized, though, that it wouldn't solve anything. And it sure as hell wouldn't save you." No sooner had Dean said the words that he began to contemplate the validity of them. What exactly _had _he saved Sam from? Not Hell, Dean could be no surer of that. He hadn't saved Sam from the obvious guilt he felt over the burdening knowledge that his brother had sold his soul for him. Dean hadn't saved Sam from the pain and sadness etched in his features every single day. He hadn't saved Sam from having to live without his brother, something Dean himself hadn't even been able to do. No, instead Dean had deliberately and selfishly bestowed all those burdens upon Sam. When it came down to it, in making that deal, the only person Dean was saving was himself, and for only a limited amount of time.

Dean pushed the thoughts aside and looked away from where his eyes had drifted in thought. This wasn't the time for a pity party or a blame-fest; Sam needed him, strong and reassuring.

"Spirits screw with you, man, it's just what they do. You're not weak for letting her get to you. You are strong, Sam. You're stronger than me." Dean tilted his head a little to the side in an attempt to recapture Sam's gaze, and he didn't move until he succeeded. Which he finally did when Sam sniffed loudly and lifted unsure eyes to look at him. Dean raised his eyebrows a little. "And I'm gonna torch that bitch good for making you doubt that."

Sam's head lifted a little more. His eyes flicked to and away from a few times before settling finally on his brother. Sadness left a residual shine in his eyes, but appreciation managed to pierce through and fix Dean in a loving gaze. Dean held and returned the visible gesture and bobbed his head ever so slightly, expectantly. _"Alright?" _Sam's slow, brief, nod an answering _"Yeah, alright."_

Dean's ghosted smile sealed the moment and Sam pulled in a deep, steady breath.

"First thing's first. We gotta find who this girl was. Everything. See what we're dealing with here."

"Yeah." Dean's response floated out on a weary sigh. He had gotten his point across to Sam and, with the loss of the distraction of doing so, he found himself unable to ignore the weakness his body was so desperate to remind him of. The pounding in his head had returned anew, the focal point at the tight-feeling lump on his forehead, and his body was beginning to feel achy on top of the chill that still seeped into his very core. "You get started on that, I'm just gonna uh..." Dean pushed up out of his chair and moved towards the bed Sam had just gotten off of to retrieve his laptop. "...hang out for a uh...a few minutes."

Dean felt the worried eyes watching him as he pulled back the blankets on his bed, a spot near the top still a bit damp where water had dripped from Sam's hair, and slid between the sheets, but he let them watch. He would just sleep for thirty minutes or so, just enough to recharge his internal batteries, then he would help Sam out with finding the likely-gritty details of the death of the girl haunting the bridge.

A loud, contented sigh blew past Dean's lips as he pulled the blankets high and tight around him and closed his warm-feeling eyes. He willed the shivers jolting through his battered body to cease, but they seemed to have a will of their own and continued to rattle him and fend off the desperately-desired oblivion of sleep.

Behind him, Dean heard the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric and a moment later the weight of a second blanket was draped over him and smoothed carefully over his shaking shoulder. The gesture soothed Dean's mind, if not his body, but after awhile the added covering was able to trap a bit more warmth and quell some of the chills coursing through him. That, coupled with the close and comforting presence of his little brother, finally lulled Dean to into a light sleep.

_...To Be Continued..._

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**Notes**

_Hope that was somewhat worth the wait. _

_I realize there really wasn't any reminiscing in this chapter either, but again I didn't feel like it would fit. I promise more flashbacks in the next chapter, which WILL be the finale this time, and I will wrap everything up._

_I wanted to add in Sam's scar aching since the timeline in this story is close to the one year anniversary of when he got it. BECAUSE, I've discovered something fascinating the past few years that I wanted to incorporate into this story. Said fascinating tidbit being that in April 2004 I had an appendectomy and every year since, like clockwork, late March/early April the area where my appendix used to be aches just a little and every once in awhile; the rest of the year, it doesn't do a damn thing. So I thought that was kinda interesting, kinda like a little reminder like "Hey, remember when?" Not that Sam needs that, but I digress._

_I'm VERY tired, so I apologize if this chapter is less than par or poorly edited._

_Reviews are like writing wicked-cruel season finales(I'm literally frightened to see what he'll do this year)...and I'm Kripke. _

_-.O.-Lil-.O.-_


	11. 1992

**Notes**

_Again I have been a TERRIBLE fic-er and not updated in forever. And I won't try to make any excuses this time other than that I just had writer's block._

_That being said, the finale IS finally finished! Thanks for sticking with it, you guys, I hope this satisfies, and if it doesn't...well that's my bad._

_I sort of swap between Sam and Dean's point of view in this chapter, so I hope it doesn't seem to choppy and that it's clear._

_Please enjoy and let me know what you think._

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**Chapter 11**

The first howl was more than enough to get his attention. There was a quality to the croon that sent shards of cold and fear splintering straight through Dean's entire body. The second howl sent him scrambling out of bed and to the weapons bag where it sat dutifully in the corner of the room. Dean rooted desperately around in the bag until he found his 1911 Colt, chocked full of silver bullets. He was sure they wouldn't do more harm than a mosquito bite would when it came to these _things_, but Dean wasn't about to face them empty handed.

Rabid barks sounded right outside the door, the slab of wood itself rattling a second later. Dean spun around to face the threat. His heart pounded hard, almost gagging him where it beat in the hollow of his throat.

"No, no, no, no." He breathed desperately. This wasn't right. It wasn't time yet. He still had two whole months left. They weren't supposed to be here for him yet. Dean raised the gun at the door, his trembling hands attempting to steady the aim where they both held the gun in a sweaty grip. He flinched violently when another pound on the door was accompanied by the sound of wood starting to give and splinter.

Dean's chest heaved, his breathing shallow and raspy sounding. Where was Sam? Dean still needed to tell him so much. All the things he had expressed, but never really said before. That he was proud of Sam. How being his big brother had been the most important and joyful experience of his life. Dean hadn't even had a chance to tell Sam how much he loved him. He had made a decision to actually _say_ the words. He had planned and practiced many times over in his head what all he wanted Sam to know. Dean had even contemplated urging the path of their hunt towards the southwest regions of the country, perhaps take that trip to the Grand Canyon that they had yet to go on. All his delusions of how his last day on Earth would be like were shattered along with the motel door.

The splintered wood fell to the ground in a puff of loosened sawdust and everything went suddenly quiet. Dean felt himself freeze as he laid eyes on what stood in the now open doorway. The gun in his hand slowly lowered as his arms no longer had the strength to hold its aim.

In all the hunts he had been on over the twenty-four years of his career, Dean had never seen anything so grotesque and purely terrifying. He had never felt such crippling fear. No words existed to properly describe the mass of raw flesh or the illusion of live fire in the fathomless eyes.

The being just stood and looked at Dean, not appearing to even be breathing in all its stillness. _"This is it." _The thought was a tiny island in the blank nothingness of Dean's mind. This was it: the end. No more life. No more road trips, no more singing along with _Stairway To Heaven_, no more enjoying the company of a beautiful woman, no more deliciously, greasy diner food. No more Sam.

_"I'm not ready." _The hellhound took an eerily slow step forward. _No more Sam. "I'm not ready!"_ The words screamed through Dean's head and spurred him into motion. The bathroom door stood ajar no less than eight feet behind him. Dean made it six before the hellhound bounded into the room and attacked. The force of the creature sent Dean crashing heavily into the half opened bathroom door and sprawling dazedly on the cold tile. Dean quickly flipped onto his back. Bringing the gun still clutched in his hands back up, he aimed at the hound's right eye and pulled the trigger. The chamber clicked empty.

The fiery orbs regarding Dean sparkled with delight and he would swear a smirk curled up the saber-studded lips. Dean saw his future in the creature's eyes. The one that would be lost to him and, more vividly, the one that awaited him. Inexplicably, he found his brother's name whispering through his lips. "Sammy." If that was the last thing that Dean was to utter in this world, then at least it was the one word that held the most weight and value to him.

As if taking the name as a cue, the hellhound pounced. It's frying-pan-sized paws landed on Dean's chest, the weight roughly compressing the air out of his lungs. Dean gasped in attempts to take back the stolen oxygen, the warrior part of him forcing his hands to grip the clawed mitts and attempt to move them. Blood rushed loudly in his ears followed quickly by a distant ringing sound and an overall feeling of cold. A still lucid part of Dean's brain acknowledged that this wasn't so bad. There were worse ways to go than slow suffocation. The creature suddenly growled with pleasure and let up the weight on Dean's chest. Apparently he had had the thought too soon.

With another growl, the hellhound lunged at Dean again, its paws pinning his shoulders to the ground with twin snaps of bone and its mouth descended to his throat. Dean's scream of pain was silenced to a wet gurgle as the hell creature's jaws crushed through his windpipe. Dean was aware of only a few things. Pain, lack of air, and the giant paws continuing to grip his broken shoulders.

_"Dean." _

And something else too.

_"Dean!" _

Dean's fogged and quickly shutting down mind still managed to panic at the sound of his brother's voice. _"Sam, no! Stay back!" _Dean wanted to warn Sam away, to safety, but only a gush of blood issued forth when he opened his mouth to speak. The paws gripped his shoulders tighter.

_"Dean! _Damnit!_ Come on, man. Breathe."_

And shook him hard.

_"Wake up. Dean, wake up, _now_!" _

The paws gave him a jarring shove and the jaws suddenly released. Dean pulled in a deep, gasping breath. He immediately began coughing and trying to free himself from the thing's grip on his shoulders.

"Whoa, _whoa_, Dean. Take it easy, man."

Dean gasped in another breath and scrambled backwards, successfully fleeing before the back of his neck crashed into something solid. He slid down the hard surface and slumped there on the floor, heart racing and his breathing trying to keep up. When ten, undisturbed seconds followed and the hellhound had yet to advance again, it struck Dean that something was different.

He blinked, his unseeing eyes clearing a little. Dean looked around. He was still in the bathroom, but without the hellhound...and he was still alive. His shoulders no longer seared with the pain of a crushed bones and he was no longer choking on his own blood.

Realization started to dawn and another blink brought everything back into focus. Dean's eyes panned around, taking in the un-blood-splattered tile, his unsoiled shirt and...Sam. Dean stopped on his little brother crouched in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at him with startled and deeply concerned eyes. Sam looked him over slowly then seemed to allow himself a careful swallow.

"Hey." Sam croaked out. Dean blinked at him.

"Hey." He grunted back after a moment, still confused about how he'd gone from being mauled by a hellhound to being regarded by his brother's fear-shined eyes. Sam shifted his weight a little forward, as if testing the potentially dangerous waters of his proximity, then duck-walked over to Dean when they seemed safe.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked in a quiet voice as he helped Dean up into a less scrunched sitting position, gripping one hand around Dean's shoulder and splaying the other over his chest. Dean just blinked owlishly up at him. Sam's brows dipped and he moved his hand from Dean's chest to his forehead. He breathed out an exasperated sigh when he found what he expected.

"God, Dean. I leave for fifteen minutes and you choose that time to spike a fever." Dean blinked a few more times at him. His face folded in a young-looking expression of puzzlement.

"Y'were gone?" Dean slurred, his eyelids fluttering in the obvious relief Sam's cool hand brought to the too-hot skin of his forehead. Sam's eyes flicked down from the lump on Dean's forehead to his eyes, now able to identify their shiny, green stare as feverish, but not concussed. He suspected Dean's fever was just bad enough to have thrown him in the grips of a deadly nightmare or hallucination. Sam had come back to the room to find Dean out of bed and instead writhing on the bathroom floor, seemingly unable to breathe.

"Come on." Sam carefully cupped his hands under Dean's shoulders and started to heft him off the floor. "You need to get some more rest." Dean grabbed clumsily at Sam's jacket and bunched his fists in a weak hold on his lapels, managing a stronger grip when he swayed on his feet. Sam steadied Dean, voicing a quiet reassurance, and lead him back out into the room.

"Time'sit?" Dean mumbled, feeling his disturbed rest already catching up with him as he shuffled slowly towards his bed.

"Almost six." Dean made a low _hmm_ sound of acknowledgment. Sam levered him down on the side of the bed and tugged on his shirt when Dean tried to fall back completely. "Not yet. Just wait here a second." Dean sat, listing slightly with fatigue and illness, and watched as Sam dug through their medical bag.

"W'were you?" He asked after a moment, sounding vaguely to Sam like he did the night Dean had turned twenty-one and had taken full advantage of the set, legal drinking age. Sam smiled briefly at the memory of how thrilled Dean had been that the bartender had carded him and how he hadn't even had to use a fake ID. The moment faded when Dean urged the question again and Sam knew he was going to have to answer at some point. And, sick and feverish or not, his brother was not going to like it.

"I was uh..." Sam tapered off. The med bag providing a convenient distraction and he rooted more avidly through it. Finally locating the bottle of ibuprofen, Sam shook two tablets into his hand before tossing the bottle back into the bag. He snagged a bottle of water from a nearby duffle and walked back over to Dean, holding the pills out to him. At Dean's slightly unfocused but altogether stubborn stare, Sam jiggled his hand, urging Dean again to take them. "I'll tell you, okay? Come on, just take the pills first." Dean stared petulantly a moment longer before palming the pills and accepting the opened bottle of water Sam offered him next.

Dean's steady, unbroken eye contact, even when he tipped his head back to gulp down the water, told Sam that Dean was already suspicious of where he had been. Sam tossed the empty bottle Dean handed back to him into the trashcan across the room before leaning over to guide Dean back onto the pillows. Dean complied, but continued to scowl the whole time.

"Y'went back t'the bridge, didn't you?" Dean accused finally. "By yourself." Sam sat back and bent his right leg up onto the bed, propping the sneaker against his opposite knee.

"I didn't technically go _on _it." Sam defended quietly. Dean growled and tried to sit up, prevented from doing so by a hand on his chest.

"Son of a bitch, Sam! After what she did to you?!" Dean said loudly, fully finding his voice again. "She could've mind-ninjaed you again!-"

"Dean-"

"You could've gotten hurt again, or worse-"

"Just..._shut up_ and listen for a minute, alright?"

Dean's eyes were still wide and wild and beneath Sam's palm his heart beat fast, but he stopped resisting and flopped back onto the pillows.

"Alright, fine." Dean bit out. "But you're better have a damn good excuse for me to listen to." Sam nodded his _"Fair enough."_ and sat back when he was sure Dean wasn't going to try jumping up again. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, ready to build his case.

"Like I said, I didn't go _on _the bridge. I found a binding spell in Dad's journal; it's supposed to render spirits powerless. I burned oak bark, oregano, and mistletoe altogether and lined the bridge with the ashes."

Dean stared at him for a moment.

"You _really_ expect that to work?" Sam's shoulders slumped and he rubbed at his eyes with tented fingers.

"Not really. But, man, we just need it to for a little while. One day. And maybe it _will_ work, then we have a whole month to put Audrey's spirit to rest."

Dean lazily arched an eyebrow. "Audrey?"

Sam nodded. "I was getting around to that next. When you were asleep, I managed to dip up some information." Sam reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded up piece of lined notebook paper. "Her name was Audrey Someski." Sam unfolded the page and held it out to Dean. "Twenty years old. She died last October." Dean accepted the paper and blinked a few times to bring it into focus. Scribbled lines of scattered thought covered the page, some of them circled and linked by straight lines gouged deeply into the paper. Dean squinted, able to make out a few random names, locations, and dates. He flicked his eyes up to look at Sam from low under his brows.

"This is good enough to go on the fridge, Sammy." Dean cooed with a growing smirk. Sam snatched the paper out of Dean's hand, cutting off his brother's remark about chicken-scratch handwriting.

"Audrey was an orphan." Sam began translating all that he had, admittedly, scribbled on the paper. "Her adopted parents died in a fire at an old movie theater when she was fourteen, so she went to live with her mother's mother. Four years later, _she _died, leaving Audrey with no other living relatives." Dean frowned. He was pretty sure he could see where this was all going. "Audrey skipped college and moved all around the country. She never stayed _anywhere_ for more than a couple months, _never_ met any new people. Until..." Sam paused and cocked his head, flicking his eyebrows up for dramatic emphasis. "...She moved to Colorado in early 2008." Dean returned Sam's expression of sad irony.

"Do I even want to know?" Dean grumbled, his eyes sliding closed. Sam gently bumped his knee against Dean's, coaxing his eyes back open. Sam smiled softly, a little apologetically, before continuing.

"Probably not, but just bear with me a bit longer." Dean sighed and made an effort to sit up a little straighter. Sam continued. "She moved to Cortez and met and fell in love with her first boyfriend, Patrick. They got serious quickly and got engaged just two months later."

"Always a good idea." Dean interjected.

"Yeah." Sam scoffed in agreement before sobering again. "Apparently it was a pretty codependent thing. It sounded like this girl was just lovesick and desperate and this Patrick guy treated her like crap."

"Dick." Dean mumbled bitterly. Even with his own track record of one night stands and almost non-existent history of serious relationships, Dean believed that women should always be respected and treated well.

"Pretty much." Sam again concurred. "So, a few weeks af-"

"Whoa, hold on a second." Dean put a hand up.

"What is it?" Sam asked, worry flickering in his eyes after taking in the slight shake of Dean's hand. Dean let his arm fall back into his blanket-covered lap.

"Adopted, lived everywhere, bastard boyfriend who you say _sounds _like he didn't treat this girl right...?"

Sam's eyebrows rose slowly. "Yeah?" He drawled. Dean shrugged.

"Where are you getting this stuff from?" Sam's confused expression morphed into a sheepish one.

"Well...articles, mostly, but..." Sam scraped his bottom lip over his teeth and dropped his eyes as color crept into his cheeks. "After I figured out who Audrey was, I Googled her name and...found her blog...on...Xanga." Sam forced out finally. He slowly looked back up.

Dean just stared blankly back, his lips slightly parted in an expression of complete obliviousness. He took a deep breath as if to speak, but paused.

"I sense that I should be mocking you so badly right now, but I gotta say I have no idea what the hell that means." Dean said after a moment. Sam hopped his leg a bit further up on the bed, squaring his shoulders towards Dean. He cleared his throat.

"Xanga is an online database. An internet diary. Sort of like...LiveJournal or Facebook." Sam paused a beat and frowned when those names appeared to mean just as much to Dean as Xanga. He shook his head quickly when Dean started to speak again. "Ju-nevermind. The point is that Audrey didn't have any friends, so she just basically poured her heart out on her blog. She recorded _everything_. I mean, posted an entry nearly every day of her life since she was fifteen. It was the closest thing to an autobiography she could've written. Anyway, according to her posts, a few weeks after her engagement to her boyfriend, she got into a car wreck."

Dean winced. "Jeez, couldn't get a break, this girl."

Sam shook his head and frowned sadly. "The accident paralyzed Audrey from the hips down and condemned her to a wheelchair."

Dean shook his head slowly. "And the upstanding, boyfriend-of-the-year?"

Sam puffed out a heavy sigh and began picking at the frayed pant-leg of his jeans. "Broke up with her three days after she was released from the hospital."

Dean let out a disgusted-sounding sigh. "I repeat..." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headboard with a hollow thump. "..._dick._ What happened next?"

"Well, you can sort of figure the rest. Her blog posts dwindled down to depressed thoughts and musing of suicide. Her last post was October 23rd. Two days later, the police found an abandoned wheelchair on Charity Bridge...and Audrey, twenty miles downstream."

Dean opened his eyes to look blearily at the ceiling. "How'd we miss this? I thought you said the town didn't have an freakiness in its history."

"The town they found her body in, Towaoc, wrote an article all about it in their paper. Here, there was only a short paragraph in the obits." Sam laughed bitterly. "She didn't have any friends. Nobody in the town knew or cared about her. Not even enough to give her suicide a headline."

The disdain in Sam's voice mirrored Dean's thoughts and feelings on the matter. How could a person be so completely overlooked throughout their entire life? Actually, he could relate to that. For doing so much for it, he and Sam had left very small footprints on the world. A handful of friends would mourn them in death and a few un-acquaintances in the hunting community might take notice, but other than that...their passing would go unbeknownst to the world.

"She didn't have anything to stay for." Sam's tone made Dean lift his head up and look at him. Sam was staring blankly at the bedspread. His eyes were distant and shielded from view, but his pinched, haunted expression conveyed the sorrow that Dean knew he would have seen in the blue-green gaze. "She didn't have anyone." Sam said softly.

The words made Dean's breathing hitch and his heart ache for his brother. This hunt had long since hit too close to home and it was the last thing Sam should have to be dealing with right then. Dean cocked his head a little and looked sadly at the shadowed profile of his little brother. Sam wouldn't exactly have _nobody_ once Dean's deal came due, but it would be close. His friends at Stanford were too far in the past, the few allies they'd met in the last two years had perished, and Ellen had dropped off the face of the earth just three days after the unleashing of Hell on an unsuspecting world. Sam would be left with just Bobby. And, Dean realized with great concern and a hint of disgust, Ruby, if she decided to stick around. That being said, Dean had fiercely denied all offered help back in Cold Oak and, even if Sam had _dozens_ of friends to lend a shoulder to cry on, Dean suspected Sam would do the same. A lose/lose situation. Wasn't that just the name of their cruel, twisted game.

Dean swallowed carefully and nudged Sam with his right knee. "Find out where she's buried?" He offered quietly. Sam blinked then nodded slowly after a beat.

"In Towaoc. No one came to claim the body, so they buried Audrey in the county cemetery." Dean nodded, relieved that the obstacle of cremation hand not been posed to the hunt. Apparently Sam had finished relaying the influx of information he'd compiled, for he did not continue past that.

Dean took in a deep breath and rolled his head to the left to look at the powdery light that was just beginning to peek through the curtains. Dean watched as the light began to glow more through the moth-eaten cloth swept across the window. Lately, the swiftness with which the sun rose had started to make Dean uneasy. It used to amaze him how quickly the sun emerged over the horizon, but now Dean regarded it with the irrational fear that the ascent would continue just as fast throughout the day and before he knew it, another twelve hours standing between him and May 2nd would have fallen away.

_"May the 2nd." _The date stuck in Dean's head like a stubborn splinter. He'd always found it ironic but even more cruel that that had been both Sam's birth date and death date. And in a few months it would also mark the anniversary of his Crossroads deal and his _own _death.

It amazed Dean in the darkest of ways; somewhere between being cold and hard, life had found the time to be a bitch, too.

"Hey, Dean?"

On the other hand...

Dean turned his head to look at Sam. His gaze was still lowered, but his expression had lightened. In fact, Sam was damn near smiling. Dean immediately felt his own mood lighten at the soft flicker of dimples and the far off gaze.

"Yeah?" Dean urged. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth a few times and his smile grew by fractions.

"Where was that cabin we lived in for awhile? The one out in the middle of nowhere. It had that family of foxes living in the storage shed." Dean's expression immediately softened to match the nostalgic glow of Sam's.

"Bemidji, Minnesota." Dean answered without a doubt. It had been one of the few times they had stayed in one place for more than a month, as well as one of the fewer places that wasn't a motel or an abandoned house they were squatting in. It had also been one of Dean's favorites. John had rented it for an extremely fair price from a seemly two-hundred year old man. The three of them had moved in right after Sam's ninth birthday, just six months before the cloak of innocence that hid him from the supernatural world had been torn away.

Dean remembered he and Sam had had fun in that cabin. The house had had an attic and a basement, both of which had provided fantastic hiding places for all day games of hide and seek. At the time, Dean had been thirteen and felt himself to be too old for the game, but the ear-to-ear grin Sam always got after finding him in the most unlikely places never failed to make Dean agree to another round. When it came his turn to seek, Dean had always been able to figure out where Sam was hiding within five minutes. _"It's a magic power all big brother's have."_ Dean used to explain to a baffled Sam after finding him crammed up in an old trunk or under the row of loose floorboards in the attic.

Dean remembered the one time he had not been able to _seek _Sam. Having been given the burden of knowledge at an early age, Dean had naturally overreacted and feared for the worst. After a half hour of searching every inch of the house and most of outside, he'd turned at the triumphant call of _"Give up?" _and spotted Sam peeking over the ridgepole of the roof. Dean had ordered him to come down, scolded Sam for going on the roof in the first place, heatedly told him never to go up there again, then had pulled him close into a tight hug.

"Yeah, Bemidji. That's right." Sam breathed out, sounding impressed that Dean recalled it so immediately. He finally looked up at Dean with nostalgia-shined eyes and a smile. Dean smiled back, feeling the comfortable pull of genuineness on his lips.

"I loved that busted up, old place." He said quietly. Sam chuckled and nodded firmly.

"I know. Me too." Sam ducked his head to scratch at the back of his hair. He dropped the hand and laced it with the other across his right shin. "Hey." Sam piped up again after a moment of twiddling his thumbs restlessly. "You uh..." He laughed and raised his head to look at Dean again. "You remember that night we wanted to go camping?" Dean felt his heart warm at the memory.

"Dad wouldn't let us go in the woods, so we just set up the tent at the foot of the porch, right next to the Impala."

"And Dad made you take your shotgun." Sam finished off the retold memory with another laugh, closely followed by Dean. "You taught me how to recognize the constellations that night." Sam said more soberly after their chuckling had died down. He fixed Dean with a grateful, loving smile.

The smile and expression looked so much like they did when Sam was younger that it was not at all difficult for Dean to be able to picture the memory as if it were yesterday.

"Yeah." Dean said with a smile, the single, slightly-choked word seeming to speak a thousand. Truth be told, Dean thought of that moment often, especially lately. He and Sam had spent that entire night staring into the heavens.

**May 1992**

_"See that grouping of stars right there? The one with the three stars in a row?"_

_"Yeah." Came the eager reply from next to Dean. _

_"That's Orion. The hunter." _

_"Cooooool!" Dean smiled at the truly amazed sound and looked over at his little brother stretched out to his right. The brothers had pulled their sleeping bags to the front of the tent and put their pillows right outside the doorway so they could look up at the stars. "What does he hunt?" The look of amusement on Sam's face made Dean wonder briefly if Sam knew what their father did if he would be just as impressed. But as Dean then contemplated just how often Sam might want to go camping again after learning about what beasts and nasties might be camping with him, he decided Sam's knowledge of hunting should be limited to that of Orion._

_"Oh, he hunts all kinds of stuff. Black holes, Deahtstars..." Dean looked slyly back over at Sam and grinned. "...little, green martian dudes." Sam's face split into a grin, sea-green eyes twinkling and dimples blazing._

_"Nu-uh!" Sam challenged. _

_"Oh yeah." Dean continued with a forced, serious expression. "Why do you think no one's ever seen an alien?" Dean snapped his fingers and poked one at the sky. "Orion wasted 'em all." _

_"He did not!" Sam grinned, nudging Dean's shoulder before looking back up at the sky. "And people _have _seen aliens before." _

_"Oh yeah? How do you know that, Al Einstein?" Dean nudged Sam right back._

_"I read it in one of Dad's books." Dean allowed a moment to be thankful Sam had chosen to look at the less-seriously taken book about alien encounter and not one of the two dozen or so others from John's collection that could have given him nightmares for the rest of the month. _

_"Uh huh, well don't believe everything you read, Sammy." He paused a beat before reaching over and mussing Sam's lengthy hair. "Ya bookworm." Sam giggled and pushed Dean's hand away. _

_They lay in a comfortable silence. Crickets chirped happily and frogs from the lake a half mile into the woods croaked a throaty chorus to add to the pleasant cacophony of sound. The first day of summer was a few days away and the night air was at that perfect temperature that's neither hot nor cool. It was the perfect Minnesota night to be camping. _

_Sam had wanted to go down by the lake with the frogs, but John had declined and Dean had ended up having to beg their father just to let them set up camp in the driveway. Sam didn't seem to mind. Apparently to a nine year old, sleeping outside was sleeping outside, regardless of location. _

_"What's beyond the stars?" Sam chimed in suddenly. Dean shrugged, the sleeping bag making the sound only polyester can make as it rubbed against his t-shirt._

_"Don't think anyone really knows. More stars, probably." Sam was quiet for awhile._

_"What about Heaven?" Dean tensed. Faith and the afterlife were not something that he had taught Sam about, however that didn't seem to stop his little brother from bringing them up from time to time. Dean had remained aloof in all the previous, mostly one-sided, discussions, not confident in his beliefs on the matter and not wanting to shatter Sam's. _

_"What about it?" Dean posed coolly. He heard Sam shift next to him and Dean suddenly found himself under his brother's curious gaze._

_"Do you believe in it?" Dean swallowed carefully, retracing the same light treads he'd taken during Sam's previous inquiries about angels and where their Mom was. _

_"Do _you_?" Dean diverted. He heard fabric rustle again after a moment and looked down to catch the end of Sam's nod. Sam flipped onto his side facing his big brother and Dean suddenly knew he was not going to be able to magician his way out of this particular conversation again. Sam was in his full-on, AskJeeves, curious mode. _

_"Dad told me that's where Mom is." Dean felt his eyebrows raise. _John _had told Sam about Heaven? Dean had just assumed that Sam had read about it in a book or something, but never would he have guessed that their jaded father had been the one Sam learned of it from. Dean couldn't believe he'd never thought about it before, but he suddenly wondered if all these years John had had faith, and Dean hadn't realized it. _

_"What else did Dad tell you?" Dean asked, turning on his side and propping his head up in his hand, his elbow braced against the ground. _

_"He said that the good guys go to Heaven." Sam said with a small, almost triumphant smile on his little, round face. Dean nodded and tentatively asked. _

_"What about the bad guys?" He held his breathe and let it out when Sam just shrugged innocently. _

_"Didn't say." Dean was glad for that. He would've had a thing or two to say to John if he had taught Sam about Hell along with Heaven. Dean wasn't Sam's father, he knew that, but he _had_ been responsible for a large portion of Sam's raising and teaching him about fire and brimstone at such a young age was not something Dean was too keen on. "Where _do _they go, Dean?" Dean smoothly shifted onto his back and looked up at the sky again. _

_"Don't know. Never really thought about it before." The subject of the general area of darkness and evil was the only one in which Dean was able to lie to Sam. Anything else and one inquiry and single, curious look from Sam worked better than an extra strength dose of sodium pentathol. But when it came to the world of hunting that Sam would inevitably learn about and begin living in one day, Dean did everything in his power to stall that revelation to Sam for as long as possible. _

_"What do you think Heaven's like?" Sam's voice cut back in after roughly five minutes of frog-filled quiet between the brothers. Dean sighed and looked over at Sam. The youngest Winchester's gaze was completely transfixed on the sky, eyes wide with wonder. Dean smiled fondly, seeing exhibit A of just why he wanted Sam to remain oblivious to their family profession for as long as possible._

_"I'm guessin' you've already got your own idea, huh astro-boy?" A slow smile spread across Sam's face and he nodded. "Well?" Dean prompted, always fascinated by the way Sam's mind worked and his vivid imagination. Sam's dimples deepened to soft craters in his face and he turned back onto his side, again facing Dean. _

_"I think it's whatever you want it to be. Like...a whole bunch of your favorite stuff all in one place. Like...your own perfect world." Sam giggled after a beat and punched Dean's right shoulder. "Yours would probably be filled with Zeppelin and Ginger from _Gilligan's Island_ posters." Dean returned the gesture by pushing Sam's face into his pillow._

_"Yeah, and yours would just be a dusty, old library, smartass." Dean's smile turned to a grin at the amp in Sam's laughter, but quickly found his mood turning serious again. John had never explained Heaven to _him_. Dean wondered briefly if maybe he would have more faith if his father _had_ encouraged it. Mary hadn't really had a whole lot of time to impress faith on him, but she had tried. Dean remembered her always telling him that he was always being watched over and protected. That had been the last thing Dean remembered her saying to him. _"Sleep in your own bed tonight, baby. Sam will be just fine by himself. Angels are watching over you both." _Perhaps that was where Dean's faith had been lost before it had even been found. When Mary's faith hadn't been able to save her life. _

_Dean had never told Sam about that. Partly because he did not want to talk about it, but mostly because he didn't want Sam's young faith tested. Truth was, Dean envied him for it. For Sam's innocence and complete trust in whatever it was that he decided to have faith in. Dean realized that he himself was probably a cynic at the young age of thirteen and, as far as he could see, there was nothing in sight that would change that. And he wasn't sure if he ever would have faith or not. From what he'd learned about various religions, he knew what that meant for him. And, admittedly, the idea didn't appeal to him at all._

_Dean didn't feel that he had earned himself the same fate as the "bad guys", but, without faith, he wasn't sure where that left him._

_"You really think I'll get into Heaven, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly. Sam's smile slowly faded. His eyebrows twitched down a little and he blinked at Dean._

_"Yes." He said, his tone holding a slight puzzlement that suggested that there was never any other possibility in his mind. It wasn't exactly a spiritual breakthrough, but Dean felt a strange sense of comfort at Sam's belief in _him_. He smiled warmly at his little brother before looking back up at the night sky. _

_Dean sensed it before Sam even asked._

_"You think _I _will?"_

_"Oh, you're gonna get the VIP suite, Sammy. Big, feather bed, chocolate milkshake fountain, the works." The ear-to-ear smile returned brightly to Sam's face and Dean couldn't help but feed it. "Blueberry pancakes with hot, maple syrup every morning for breakfast." _

_Because Dean _didn't _know if there was a Heaven._

_"And more books filled with random, useless facts then you could ever read."_

_But if there was, Dean had no doubt that Sam would get in. Apparently, it was likewise with Sam. And maybe that was enough. Because if there was one thing that the Winchester brothers had complete faith in, it was each other. _

_**The End**_

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**Notes**

_Show of hands, how many people remember/had Xanga?:D_

_Alright, first off, I know I didn't really wrap up the Audrey thing, but that's because that wasn't the point of this story. The _hunt_ wasn't the point of this story, it was the reminiscing and the boys. And I already hinted to what's gonna happen next: the binding spells gonna work, Dean's gonna get better, and they're both gonna go down to Tomawhatever and burn Audrey's bones. So there. _

_I felt I may have overdone the last part and perhaps rushed it or left it a bit incomplete, so let me know how you guys feel about that._

_I wanna thank everyone who stuck with this, even when I was bad...a lot and didn't update for months at a time. I hope this was at least a little bit worth the wait and that y'all enjoyed this story alright._

_**Also, I'd like to say that due to the fact that I will be attending college this fall, I will probably not be posting any new stories or updating my crack!fic very often. Though the possibility is not non existent, for I have four more fanfics in the works. So stay tuned, but...don't hold your breath.**_

_Reviews are like doing goofy things that fuel the fandom's J2/Wincest kink...and I am Jared Padalecki._

_-.O.-Lil-.O.-_


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